


Remember

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-08-13
Packaged: 2018-12-09 03:36:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 53,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: Things often fall apart, but April never thought it would happen to her and her husband, Jackson. Yet here they are, in the beginning stages of a divorce, with too much pain between them to make their relationship worth it any longer.Just as they’re getting used to the fact that they’ll have to move on from one another, fate hands them a shocking reminder of how much they once needed each other. But with old feelings come old fights. At the end of the day, is a second chance even an option?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> remember when i said i was taking a hiatus? lmao!

There’s nothing like Chicago in the springtime. The air is fresh, there are flowers blooming on the trees, and people have come out of hiding. I’ve been cooped up in my office all day, so I take the long way home from the train so I can take it all in. 

I look up at the sky, squinting against the sunlight while feeling thankful that it’s still so light outside. In the fall and winter, it’s already dark by the time I’m heading home from work. But not today. Today, there’s enough light for me to walk through Lakeshore Park and watch everyone taking in the beautiful evening alongside me. 

I’m following the cement path that curves around the outer part when I hear a voice I recognize. 

“No, daddy!” it says. “I can’t do it. I’m gonna fall. Daddy, I can’t do it!” 

I furrow my eyebrows and search for the source of the sound. That voice is too familiar for it not to be my daughter. It doesn’t take me long to find the both of them - Aveline and Jackson - just ahead of me on the asphalt. He has his hand on the back of her bike seat, and she’s decked out in her helmet, elbow pads and knee pads, wobbling as she pedals. “Don’t let go!” she shrieks. 

“I’m gonna let you go, I swear you got it,” he tells her. 

I will him not to let her go, but I don’t shout to them. I don’t want to look insane, and I doubt they’d hear me. 

“I do not got it!” she screams, but he lets her go anyway. She goes steady for a second before the handlebars start to shake, which turns into her whole bike reverberating from the motion and I watch her lose control of her wheels without being able to do anything to stop it. She careens to the side and crashes into a bush, toppling off of her bike and onto the cement. 

When I hear my daughter scream, I pick up the pace and jog over to the both of them in my three-inch heels. 

“April?” Jackson asks, sounding confused. “What are you doing here?” 

“Honey, are you okay?” I ask Aveline, kneeling down and scooping her up from the ground. She’s hard to hold with all of her protective gear on, but I do it anyway. She’s six, so she doesn’t fit easily in my arms anymore, but I make it work. Jackson says something else, but I can’t hear him over her incessant wailing. 

“Daddy maked me fall!” she screams. 

I hitch her up higher and give Jackson a nasty look over the back of her shoulder. He’s giving me an equally-as-nasty one back, his eyebrows set low and his mouth in a straight frown. “What the hell were you thinking?” I mouth. 

He rolls his eyes and starts to walk away, shaking his head. “Hey!” I call out, clacking after him in my heels with a still-screaming 6-year-old in my arms. “Don’t just walk away from me.” 

I catch up with him and see him chewing on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not talking about this with you here,” he grumbles, his mouth barely moving. 

“Fine,” I spit. “But we’re talking about it.”

“Of course we are.”

I match his pace, but my arms start to grow weak. “I can’t carry her anymore,” I say. Aveline’s sobs have lessened to sniffles, but she’s too big for me to take her all the way home like this. “Can you?”

“I’m not carrying her,” he says, gesturing towards the bike that he’s rolling. “I have this. Plus, she can walk on her own. She didn’t get hurt. She’s fine.” 

“She’s upset, she wants to be carried,” I say. 

“She’s not a baby, April,” he clips. 

I sigh and try to ignore my aching arms, telling myself that it’s the workout I didn’t get today. The burning is a good thing, and we’re almost home. 

When we get there, Jackson puts Aveline’s bike in the storage closet outside the front door and unlocks our apartment. I set our daughter down when we get inside, and she plops down on her butt to take all of her pads off while rubbing her eyes. 

“You okay, sweetie?” I ask, kneeling down to help her. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Daddy was gonna teach me how to ride my bike. But I kept getting scared. I said I wasn’t ready to go by myself, but he didn’t listen.” 

“Well,” I say, telling myself to hold my tongue. I never badmouth Jackson to Aveline, not ever. “Some things take time. You’ll get better with practice.” 

“I don’t wanna practice if it gives me boo-boos,” she says, rubbing her unscathed knee. 

“No pain, no gain,” Jackson says as he passes by, shoes now off. 

She looks up at him and unclips her helmet. “I don’t even know what that means.”

I stand up from the floor and take my heels off, unbuttoning my blazer as I walk towards the kitchen. “You were home early today,” I say, hands on the back of a chair at the breakfast bar. “You send Vivian home?” 

Vivian is Aveline’s nanny, who’s been with us basically since she was born. 

“Daddy said Vivi could leave,” Aveline says, climbing up onto a chair. “Even though we were reading Junie B. Daddy wanted her to go so we could go practice bikes.” She huffs. “I wish Vivi would’ve stayed. Then I wouldn’t have gotten a boo-boo.”

“Well, I like spending time with you, just me,” Jackson says as he washes his hands.

“What about Mommy?” Aveline asks, nitpicking. It’s her new thing - picking apart and correcting what we say, taking everything literally. It’s been exhausting. 

“Her, too,” Jackson says, and turns off the faucet. 

“I’m gonna go change out of my work clothes,” I say, sliding my hand along the black countertop. “I’ll be back to start on dinner.” 

I close the door to mine and Jackson’s room and sit at the end of the unmade bed, letting out a long breath as I cover my face with my hands. I try to center myself. I don’t want to fight with him - we’ve been trying not to do that. But as we try to get better about it, it’s only gotten worse. 

I have so much stress to shoulder at work - I’m an attorney for Clifford Law Offices - and my caseload has been insanely heavy over the past three months. Every time I close one, another gets opened and is assigned to me. I have no room to breathe, and home is supposed to be my solace. 

Lately, it’s been the exact opposite of that. 

For the past year, Jackson and I have been on edge with each other. Our relationship has turned challenging instead of pleasant, and I’m always looking towards the future to see what hurdle we’ll have to jump over next. Whether it deals with an argument we’re always revisiting or something to do with Aveline and her demanding needs as she gets older, it doesn’t matter. It’s always something. 

So now, sitting on the bed in this quiet room, I cherish the peace for at least a moment. I don’t let it last, though, I get up and change into yoga pants and an athletic tank top, and walk back out to the kitchen in my socks. Before I get there, I hear the TV playing some kids’ show, and I look at it when I rejoin Jackson at the counter. 

“You turned on the TV for her?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. 

He nods, taking a big sip of the beer he’s opened. “You and I need to talk, you said it yourself,” he says. 

I make an annoyed little sound. “Doesn’t mean you have to placate her with that thing,” I say. “She turns into a zombie, and then she’s so nasty when I turn it off.” 

“You gotta give her warnings,” he says. “Ten minutes left, five minutes left, then she doesn’t get so mad when you just up and turn it off and tell her right then what she’s gonna do next.” 

“I don’t do that to her,” I say, opening the fridge. “What sounds good to eat?” 

“I don’t know,” he says. 

“Helpful.” 

“Avi,” Jackson calls out. “What sounds good for dinner?” 

“Mac and cheese!” she calls back, and I sigh. 

“I’m not making that for her again this week,” I say. “She needs protein. I’m making chicken,” I call out to her. I hear whining instantly, as her response. 

“Why’d you ask then, if you already knew what you wanted to make?” he says, and I can hear the eyeroll in his voice. “Doesn’t make much sense.” 

“How was your day at work?” I ask, skirting the subject as I get three chicken breasts out of the fridge. 

“Fine,” he answers, and I hear the clink of him setting his beer bottle down. “Yours?” 

“Hectic,” I say. 

“Hmm.” 

“Any surgeries today?” I say. 

“One,” he says. “Rhinoplasty.” 

“Nice,” I say. I wait for him to ask me about the case I’ve been working on for weeks now, but he doesn’t. I offer up the information anyway. “I met with the prosecutor today and talked about how we’re going to go about the hearing on Monday,” I say. “She was willing to listen to a lot of my points.” 

“Good,” he says, but his eyes are on the TV show that Aveline is watching - Strawberry Shortcake or something. 

I frown and pull a bag of potatoes out of the bottom cupboard and rinse them off as I find ones to peel for us. 

“She wasn’t ready for you to take your hand off the seat,” I say, swiping the potato peeler over the skin so it shucks off into our square white sink. 

His eyes flit back to me, away from the TV screen. “Are you really gonna start in on that?” 

“I told you I wanted to talk about it,” I say. 

“You baby her,” he says, shaking his head and setting his beer down. 

I pull a coaster out from the stack close to him. “Use one,” I say forcefully, and stick it under his bottle. 

“It’s granite,” he says, swiping the circle of condensation away. “Christ.” 

“Don’t,” I say under my breath, then lift my eyes. “She fell and got scared. What kind of example are you showing her? Oh, Daddy’s telling you that he’s here, he’s not gonna let you fall, then what do you do? You give her a shove and basically say, good luck! And she biffs it in a shrub.” 

“She was fine,” he says. “I had her in all that gear for a reason. Do you see a single scratch on her? No. Because I know how to take care of our kid, April. Sometimes I swear you think I don’t.” 

I scoff. “That’s really nice,” I say. “Putting words in my mouth. No, I never said that. I would never question your abilities as a father. I know how much that-” 

“Itt sure sounds like you are.” 

“I’m not!” I say, skinning the potatoes more forcefully, the sound of the peeler against the potato insistent and repetitive. “I’m not saying that. What I’m saying is that you’re telling her one thing and showing her another, and she’s not gonna know which one to believe. You can’t just shove her off on a two-wheeler and expect her to know what she’s doing. It doesn’t work that way.” 

“How does it work, then?” he counters back, leaning forward on his elbows. “If you had it your way, she’d be on training wheels until she’s 12. She needs to learn sometime, April. So what if she falls a few times? That’s how kids learn. God, that’s how everyone learns. By falling. Then you get back up. She was fine, she wasn’t even hurt.” 

“I know she wasn’t hurt,” I say, staring down into the sink where all the brown, peeled skin lies. “You’re not hearing me. That’s not my issue here. What I’m saying is-” 

“I hear perfectly well what you’re saying,” he says. “What you’re saying is-” 

“You’re not letting me talk!” I exclaim, and feel a sharp stab of pain in my finger as soon as the words come out. Surprised, I look down and see dots of red blotting the sink and the tip of my pointer finger soaked in blood, nicked from the peeler. 

“What’d you do?” he asks. 

I stick it in my mouth and suck on it, willing the stinging to stop. “Cut myself,” I say. 

“I’ll get you a Band-Aid,” he says, starting to stand.

I take my finger out of my mouth and shake it off. “No,” I say. “I got it. Thanks.” 

I go into the bathroom and wrap my finger up, then come back out to see that he took my spot where I’d been peeling. 

“The sink is all bloody,” I say, watching him from a short distance away. “You’re gonna wanna clean it before you finish.” 

“What, are you planning on eating the potato skins?” he asks, his tone short and sarcastic. 

I stay quiet, but stare daggers into him as he looks down again. 

“You could have at least apologized for what happened earlier, when she fell,” I say. I take a sip of his beer - we’ve always liked the same drinks. 

“You kind of took that moment away from me though, didn’t you?” he says, dumping the last potato into the pot so he can add water. 

“What was I supposed to do, leave her lying there?” I retort. “My kid falls, I pick her up. That’s how it works.” I eye him. “Or at least that’s how it’s  _ supposed  _ to work.” 

“Stop,” he says. “Just stop.” He switches the range on, then opens the oven to check on the chicken breasts, so there’s a short pause before he starts talking again. “Because one minute you say you’d never, ever compare me to my deadbeat father, then in the next breath - the next damn  _ breath _ , April - you’re undermining my capabilities as her father.” 

“I swear, I don’t know how you think this stuff up,” I say incredulously.

“Honestly?” he says. “Honestly, you don’t see yourself doing that?” 

“You are out of your mind,” I say, taking another sip of his beer while trying to keep my hands from trembling with anger. “Never in my life would I compare you to Robert Ave-” 

“But you just did,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “You just stood here and told me that I wouldn’t go comfort my kid when she needs me. Because you wanna be the superhero, right? You wanna swoop in there and save the day and there I am, the bad guy again.” He nods slowly. “That’s just how you like it.” 

“I was walking by!” I shoot back. “What did you want me to do, ignore her? Ignore the fact that she was screaming on the ground as you were strolling on over all casual? No, of course not. I’m her mother, Jackson. I’m gonna go comfort my kid when she’s crying.” 

“Of course you are,” he says. “No one’s telling you that that’s wrong. But you’re telling me that somehow what I did was wrong because you got there first. You don’t know what I would’ve done had you not been there.” 

“Yes, I do.” 

“No, you don’t,” he says. 

“I do,” I say. “You would have pulled her up, put her back on that bike, and made her go again. You wouldn’t have bothered to stop and wipe her tears, listen to how scared she was, you didn’t want to hear any of that. You just wanted her to ride that bike.” 

“Nothing is wrong with wanting my kid to learn something new,” he says. 

“There’s plenty wrong with it when she’s explicitly telling you that she’s not ready, and you continue to ignore her,” I say. 

“If you wouldn’t have showed up, she’d probably know how to ride that thing by now,” he says. “Then it wouldn’t be sitting in that goddamn closet, taking up space and gathering dust.” 

I scoff. “It’s not gathering dust. She’s gonna learn to ride it soon. You just need to give her time, that’s the problem. That’s always been your problem, you always want things done now, now, now. But she’s a kid, Jackson! She’s six. You need to go out with her more and let her make progress before you just shove her.” 

“Enough with the fucking  _ shoving _ ,” he spits. “I’m tired of hearing you say that word, I never shoved her. I let the bike seat go. That’s it.”

“You don’t need to curse at me,” I say. “She’s right over there. She hears you, you know.” I narrow my eyes. “And anyway, don’t change the subject. I wasn’t done. I was going to say that if you were home more often-” 

He turns his back on me and opens the oven, sliding the pan with the chicken breasts in. But even after the oven door is closed, he stays facing that way. 

“Don’t start,” he says, his voice low and gravelly.

“No, it needs to be said,” I say, my hand wrapped around the cold beer bottle. “You’re always working those long hours at the hospital, and if you’re not careful, you’re going to miss her growing up-”

“Says the pot to the kettle!” he says, storming back around with the oven mitts still on. “How often is Vivian here, huh? How often?” 

I open my mouth, but no words come out. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Avi loves Vivian like a  _ mother _ , April. Like a goddamn mother. And you know why? You know why? Because  _ you’re _ never here. Don’t talk to me that I’m never here, because who got off work early this afternoon and specifically came home when I could’ve stayed at the hospital and done some paperwork-” 

“Oh, you’re such a saint,” I say, throwing my hands up. “Coming home to spend time with your kid when you could’ve been doing paperwork. Oh my god, what a humanitarian you are.” 

His eyes are burning with anger. “Stop it,” he says. 

“I stay at work because I have a billion things to do. A billion people to cater to, I’ve had to be in court more than I’ve had to be in years, this is just a really busy time for me. So, yeah, it’s a good time for you to pick up slack. But you don’t seem to get that.” 

“Oh, I don’t get that when I’m home at night with her and she’s asking where you are?” he says. 

“She knows where I am,” I say. “I’m open with her. I don’t sugarcoat things.” 

“Yeah, okay,” he says sarcastically, eyebrows raised. 

“What?” 

“You’re the queen of sugarcoating, April,” he says. “The queen of babying that kid. I don’t think she would’ve even learned to walk had you had your way. You never put her down! You don’t let her experience life. She wants for nothing.” 

“And why should she?” I ask. “You want her to suffer for some reason…? When we have more than enough means to give her everything she needs?” 

“It’s more than just that,” he says, leaning forward on the counter. I glance behind me to see that Aveline is still enraptured by the TV, leaning against the armrest of the couch with her legs tucked next to her. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” I reply.

He groans like he’s so fed up with me. “Neither of us have enough time for her,” he says. 

“What are you saying?” I hiss. “She’s not a puppy. She’s not… what, do you want to take her back to the shelter? Because that’s what it sounds like you’re saying right now.” My face heats up. “Well, make sure it’s a no-kill one, okay? At least do that much for her. God, Jackson. Do you hear yourself sometimes?” 

“Oh, my god, that’s not what I’m saying!” he says, pounding his fist down. “If all we’re gonna do is fight over how to raise her, fight over how much time we spend with her, fight over  _ every little damn thing  _ about our kid, then why did we have her at all? Huh? Why did we?” 

He’s seething, and so am I. My teeth are gritted together so hard I think they might explode into dust. 

“How can you say something like that?” I ask. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t twist my words. I’m thinking about Avi here. I love her so much, you know how much I love her - I’d die for her. I’d give my life up on the spot for her, no questions asked. But what I’m saying is that if this is the kind of life we’re gonna give her, then why did we do it? Why are we doing this to her?” He pinches his lips together. “I heard her call Vivian ‘mama’ the other day. She didn’t correct herself, either.” 

My eyes well up with tears, but I beg them not to fall over. “No, you didn’t,” I say. “Stop saying things just to hurt me.” 

“I’m not making it up,” he says. The potatoes start to boil, so he turns the heat down on the range. “Vivian corrected her, but Avi didn’t correct herself.” He pauses. “She’s six. She knows better. She knew what she was doing.”

“I’m done with this conversation,” I say, sliding off the raised chair. “Call me when dinner’s ready.” 

“Oh, sure, run away from it,” he calls out, but I’m already on my way back to our bedroom. 

I pass the living room on the way there and catch my daughter’s attention. “Where’re you going, mommy?” she asks. “Come watch a show with me.” 

“Maybe later, sweetheart,” I say, blinking hard. But then I remember what Jackson said about me not spending enough time with her, and feel a pit of guilt settle in my stomach. “Well, okay, maybe one,” I say, and sit down next to her on the couch and pull her to rest against me. 

I kiss the top of her curly head and squeeze her tight. “You know I love you, right?” I say. 

“Shh, mommy,” she says, pointing at the TV. “I can’t hear Strawberry Shortcake.” 

I let out a quiet sigh from my nose and feel weak and defeated. My daughter’s right here in my arms, but it feels like she’s being held just out of my reach. And Jackson… our relationship hasn’t been the same for almost a year now. I don’t know what’s deteriorating between us, but it’s going fast and it’s getting worse. I don’t know how to make it stop. 

A while later, Jackson calls and tells us that dinner’s ready. I turn the TV off with a whiny protest from Aveline, but we make our way to the table to find that he’s set all of our plates already. 

“I wanted mac and cheese,” Aveline whines, slumping down in her chair. “I don’t like chicken.” 

“You like chicken fine,” Jackson says, and I take her plate so I can cut it up for her. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until I feel his eyes on me, but I ignore it. I can cut my kid’s chicken without feeling guilty. She’s six, she can’t do it on her own. 

“And you like potatoes,” I say, slicing open my own. 

The three of us eat together in silence for a while until I break it. “So did you do anything exciting at school today, Avi?” 

She shrugs.

“What was your best thing?” I ask. 

“I did the whole monkey bars at recess,” she says. “And Miss Diane didn’t even make us wear coats.” 

“Wow, nice,” I say. “Good job, honey. I’m proud of you.” I squeeze her wrist and give her a kiss on top of her head. “How about...the worst thing? What was that?” 

She takes a big forkful of potato and chews. “Crashing my bike,” she says. 

Jackson makes a small noise, and I decide to stay quiet and not say anything so I won’t perpetuate our fight further. I’m still calming down from it, and I don’t want to rile myself up again. Or him, for that matter. 

“Daddy got home early and made Vivi leave,” Aveline says after a small pocket of silence has passed. 

“I know, you told me that,” I say conversationally. 

“I wish you got home,” she continues. “I want you to get home first.” 

I don’t know what to say, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have a small sense of satisfaction from hearing that. “Well, you love your daddy,” I say. 

The conversation dies off again and stays that way. I let my eyes roam around the house as I eat, pausing on the pictures that line the walls. On the weekends, I do photography. I’ve been taking pictures for almost twelve years - I started just after I finished undergrad and began law school. All of the professional shots of Aveline decorating our apartment were taken by me.

There’s one when she was about two-and-a-half years old that’s hanging on the wall, and Jackson is in it, too. Their foreheads are pressed together and they’re smiling at each other - so big that it looks like their faces could break in two. She has her hands on his shoulders and the background is blurry so the focus is on just them. That’s always been one of my favorite shots. 

That day we’d gone to Museum Campus and taken a slew of pictures - it had been the perfect fall day. Aveline was in jeans, a sweater and a winter hat, and the two of us were comfortable in jeans and long sleeves. She hadn’t cried once all day, and we’d attracted the attention of plenty of passing tourists, every single one telling us how beautiful our family was. It made me feel so proud, knowing that those two were mine. That no matter how successful I’d ever be in my career, that they’d always be my greatest accomplishments. 

That feeling is hard to find anymore. I have to dig for it. Most of the time, I find myself thinking about work before I think about my home life. That’s not to say that Aveline doesn’t cross my mind plenty of times during the day, but she’s getting older and more independent. I don’t have to worry if she’s swallowed a marble at home or choked on a Lego or had a violent allergic reaction to some household food. We’ve fallen into a routine that centers around our careers, not each other. I barely notice it until I start to think about it like this, then it just depresses me. 

I let my eyes scan to another photo, one of the rare ones not taken by me. It’s framed and resting on the bookcase by the TV, and it’s one of the older ones in the house. It’s Jackson and me at a friend’s wedding, he’s holding onto one of my hands and the other one is in the air as he spins me. We were dancing. We used to love to dance together at those kinds of events, and the wild smiles on our faces show it. My face is red and sweaty and my hair isn’t perfect, but he’s looking at me like he can’t see any of that. I remember being so purely happy with him, and not just during that wedding. During that stage of our lives, before Aveline was born and while we were engaged, we’d been the happiest couple around. We loved each other so limitlessly - we’d been borderline obsessed with each other. 

Things didn’t change once the baby was born, like they did for a lot of our other married friends. Our sex life didn’t die down, we didn’t spend less time with one another. If anything, we appreciated each other on a deeper level, in a very different way. I looked at him and saw the father of the beautiful creation I held in my arms. He was a part of me, we were a part of each other now. No matter what, we’d always have her as that link that held us together. I loved that. I was so in love with him and the life we’d made.

I hate that it’s hard to remember that feeling. Hard to remember how it felt walking in the door after a long day, kicking my heels off, and melting against him on the couch. It’s hard to remember what it felt like to have sex that meant something, instead of just using it as an outlet. I don’t remember what it felt like to sleep in the same bed and find him in the middle of the night just to pull myself closer, or what it felt like to fall asleep with his head on my chest, running my fingers over his hair. He used to love the way my hands felt on his head, and now he doesn’t even let me touch him. 

We’ve changed. A lot. 

***

After Aveline goes to bed that night, Jackson watches TV in the guest room and I go over case files on the bed that we used to share. I’m sitting cross-legged with my back against the headboard, flipping through papers and feeling my lips move as my thoughts fly warp-speed through my brain. 

I’m exhausted, that’s for sure. I want to go to sleep, but I can’t let my work rest. 

I eventually force myself to do just that, though, and put the thick manila folder on the floor next to my slippers. I get up out of bed in my thin, purple nightgown and walk to the bathroom, pulling one of the spaghetti straps up that fell down. 

I stare at myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth, letting my mind go completely blank for the first time all day. I wrap an arm around my middle and pop my hip to one side, letting my eyes close as I try and relax, but it doesn’t work. An antsy feeling washes over me and I wish I could say I didn’t know why, but I do. I can’t unwind. And one of the only ways I can force myself to relax before going to sleep involves someone who’s really pissed at me right now, so I don’t think that’s going to happen. 

I go and lay back down after switching off the light and turn onto my side, staring out the window that looks over the dark, broad expanse of Lake Michigan. I sigh deeply and try to shut my eyes, but sleep won’t come. 

I’m still lying there with my eyes closed a while later when I hear the door click open. I turn halfway over, expecting to see Aveline, but I see Jackson’s silhouette instead. He makes his way to the bed and though he can’t see me without the light on, I furrow my eyebrows with confusion. I wonder if he’s in here for the reason I think he is. 

“Uh, hey,” he says, and I can see his arm move up to rub the back of his neck. “I can’t get to sleep. I was wondering if you wanted…” 

I roll to lie fully on my back. “Yes,” I say, and shuck back the covers so they bunch at the end of the bed. 

Sometimes, this happens. I’ll be in bed, by myself, wanting him more than anything. His body on mine, just to feel that close to him again. But I’m too shy to go into the room where he sleeps and ask. So most of the time, he finds his way into mine. 

I pull up my short nightgown and rid myself of my black underwear, throwing them haphazardly onto the floor as he pulls his shirt and pants off. When his boxers finally go, he gets on the bed and straddles my hips, holding them tight in his strong hands as he deliberately pushes his way inside me. 

I let my eyes roll back from the sensation. We don’t use condoms - we haven’t for a long time, since I’m on the pill - and I love the way he feels inside me. We don’t speak. We never do, while we’re doing this. I think parts of us want to pretend like it’s not happening, though we know we both need it. At the end of the day some days, if I didn’t have this release, I don’t know what I’d do. 

His pelvis rocks against mine forcefully, and he starts to make little grunts as he gets near what we’re both looking for. I widen my legs to welcome him deeper, and he does just that. He goes faster and harder, so hard that I have to hold tightly onto his forearms and leave little white fingerprints behind. I press my lips together so I don’t cry out, because I can get loud when I come and that’s something we’re both very aware of. When we were still having regular sex, we had a couple awkward conversations with Aveline as to why Mommy was yelling out in the night, so we’ve learned to keep it down since then. 

I throw my head to the side when it happens, taking in a harsh gasp of breath. He comes at the same time as I do, which isn’t unusual for the both of us who’ve been having sex for plenty of years, but he doesn’t kiss me. He doesn’t bend at the waist and rest against me, he doesn’t palm my breast, he doesn’t let himself do any of those things. 

I don’t say his name, I don’t tell him I love him, I don’t run my hands down his chest. We stay separate, except for the parts of our bodies that are joined as we come down from our orgasms. 

When he pulls out, I get up so I can walk to the bathroom and clean myself up. He pulls his clothes back on and throws a look over his shoulder when he’s about to walk out, almost like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. He stays quiet and I flit my eyes away, suddenly feeling awkward about this whole situation. 

I put on the same pair of underwear as I head back to bed and sit on the side, staring at the carpet. We’re using each other when we do that, I know. It’s not healthy, and we shouldn’t be having sex at all. Because it’s not normal sex. It’s not loving or gentle or even really that passionate. We’re only doing it because we both have pent-up stress that we know the other can help us get rid of. 

When I think about it too hard, I get disgusted with myself for being an active part of letting this happen. I’m a successful lawyer who makes six figures, who went to school for longer than my daughter has been alive. I’m an intelligent, capable, independent woman. Yet how can I be so emotionally stunted when it comes to the man who I’d once give my life for? 

In the morning, my alarm wakes me up just as the sun is peeking in through the blinds. I lie there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling with my arms resting above me on the pillow, and breathe deeply. I’m exhausted, just like I am every morning, and I would give anything to not go into the office. 

If I really needed a day off, I could just take it. I hold enough clout at that place to do close to whatever I want, but I won’t do that. My work is important to me, and I would never ditch just because I’m tired. So I haul myself out of my warm bed and into the bathroom, where I start the shower. 

I get in and stand under the jet with my hands covering my face, then I hear the door open. 

“Avi?” I call out, hearing how tired my voice sounds. 

“No, sorry, just me,” Jackson says. He sometimes comes into the master bathroom in the mornings if he has to shave. The guest bathroom doesn’t have enough outlets. “I can wait, though, if you-” 

“It’s fine,” I say, pulling the shampoo out of its holster and squirting some into my hand. While we’re in such close quarters, I’m tempted to start a conversation about last night, but I don’t know what words I’d use. It’s happened so many times - it’s not like last night was the first. 

I open my mouth to begin, but find myself with nothing to say, so I close it again and work the shampoo into my hair. 

For some reason, I find myself thinking about the day we met. It was about nine years ago, right when I finished law school. I was at a bar downtown called Three Dots and A Dash, celebrating with my friends because I’d just passed my Bar exam and was officially qualified to practice law. I had my life laid out in front of me, and everything was going perfectly. I had nothing to complain about. 

Except for the fact that my friends wouldn’t stop bothering me about the fact that I’d never made out with a stranger in a bar before, and it was apparently my rite of passage into adulthood. Addison and Amelia, two of my close friends at the time who I’m still friendly with now, were scouting men in the bar that would be fitting for me and I was doing my best in ignoring them. 

I smile to myself as I think about it now. They were pointing out the worst guys and I was saying no every time, but they wouldn’t give up for anything. They said that I wasn’t leaving that bar until I went up to stranger and kissed him, at least. 

I had just passed my Bar exam. What did I have to lose? I told myself it wouldn’t hurt to just go up to a guy and give him a kiss. I had my whole life in front of me. I was a smart woman and I knew that guys found me attractive. I had my pride to lose, I guess, but that was about it. 

After a whole bunch of duds, they had pointed out Jackson. He was sitting by himself at the bar with a beer in front of him - actually the same kind of beer that he’d been drinking last night before dinner. When they suggested I go up to him, I hadn’t hesitated. He was easily the best-looking man I’d ever seen in my life, and I wasn’t going to pass him up. 

I stood in front of him in a black dress and heels, hair pulled away from my face and a blush on my cheeks. 

“Hey,” I had said, hands clasped at my waist. I tried to pull my confidence up from the floor, but it was shrinking away from me. His eyes were dazzling, his skin was gorgeous, and his smile practically knocked me on my ass. But I was going to follow through with this. “My friends are making fun of me because I’ve never made out with a stranger at a bar. So… I was wondering…” I shifted my weight from foot to foot. 

He chuckled. “Is that a pickup line?” 

I blushed even worse. “No,” I said, truthfully. 

“Well, it worked,” he said, and pulled me close by my waist and pressed his lips to mine. 

I made out with Jackson before I learned a single thing about him, yet our lips fit together perfectly like we’d been doing it our whole lives. His grip was tight on my hips and I heard Addie and Amelia cheering from way far off, but it felt like the two of us were the only people in the room. The only people on earth, more like. 

We didn’t come up for air for a long time, but when we did, we were both breathless. I stared at him with wide eyes and a surprised expression on my face, and he tucked a piece of my red hair behind my ear. 

He gave me his number and told me his name and the rest is obvious. 

I jolt back to reality and realize I’m still smiling. 

“Hey, remember when-”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

We speak at the same time. “Oh, go ahead,” I say, standing still with a washcloth in one hand and the bar of soap in my other.

He sighs. “I want you to know that this isn’t easy for me to say, okay?” He pauses for a second. “I don’t want to hurt you. I’m tired of hurting you, April. This is… this is really just hurting both of us. And last night… what we did, it just helped me realize this.” Another pause. I feel like I might throw up. “I think we need to talk about trying this with other people. Dating.” He sighs again. “Because whatever we’re doing… this isn’t working.” 


	2. Chapter 2

I drop the soap and washcloth that I’d been holding - the soap makes a loud clatter on the tiled shower floor and the washcloth bunches in the corner. 

“What?” I snap, not bothering to pick them up. I stand in front of the clear glass door, but he’s out of my vision as he stands by the sinks. I shake my head adamantly. “No. No. That’s not how this works. You don’t just…  _ date _ other people while you’re still married. No! That’s completely insane.” I take in a deep breath. “I will not date other people while I’m still married to you.” 

I hear him sigh. I can picture him leaning forward, looking at his reflection in the mirror as he listens to me. “Okay, then,” he says. “Then let’s talk about a divorce.” 

Without thinking, I blow open the shower door so it hits the wall and burst out from under the water just as naked as I’d been in there. I stand in front of him, dripping as my chest heaves with surprise and anger, and he won’t look at me. He hands me a towel while keeping his gaze directed the other way. 

At one point, I’d been his wife. We’d been just as comfortable around each other with no clothes than we were while dressed, being around him naked was just part of my daily routine. He loved it when I wore as little as possible, he was always trying to get my pants off so I’d walk around in my underwear. And now, he can’t even look at me. 

I’m not his wife anymore, and I haven’t been for a while. I can see that. What we had - that beautiful, magic relationship - has burnt down to the wick. There’s nothing left to salvage, and we’re hurting ourselves by staying. 

I’m not blind and I’m not in denial, but that doesn’t mean this hurts any less. We fight more than we have pleasant conversations, we never touch each other unless it’s for emergency sex in the middle of the night, and I can’t remember the last time we said ‘I love you.’ 

This marriage is over. I’m not going to drag around its dead weight if it can’t be fixed. 

We have Aveline - the little light who I had once looked at and known that she’d be my connection to Jackson always, no matter what life threw us. Now, she’s a hitch in our divorce. A component of our marriage that cannot be forgotten, and my heart sinks into my stomach as I think about how we’ll tell her. I don’t know what she’ll say. I don’t know how she’ll react. Maybe it won’t be as bad as it could be - lately, Jackson and I have been better apart, anyway. She’s six. She can see that for herself. 

I wrap the towel around myself and tuck in a corner to keep it tight. I inhale shakily, chewing on my lower lip as he waits for me to answer, then finally repeat that heavy word. 

“Divorce,” I say. 

He nods slowly. “After this past year… after everything that’s happened, I just think it’d be the best for us.” He pauses. “The best for her. I don’t want her growing up around two parents who can’t stop fighting long enough to tell their kid they love her.” 

I bristle at his words. “You’re exaggerating a little bit, don’t you think?” I say. “I tell her I love her every day. She knows how much we love her.” 

“You know what I mean,” he says, then shakes his head as if he’s proven a point. “See? Like this. We can’t even have a normal conversation without fighting.” 

“When you come at me telling me that I don’t love my child, you can’t expect me not to have something to say,” I mutter under my breath. 

He pinches his lips. “Can you put together the paperwork at the office?” he asks. 

Divorce. I turn the word over in my head again and realize how ugly it is. At the firm, we deal with messy divorces every now and then, only when they get to the dramatic stages. Mine and Jackson’s won’t get there, we won’t need to go to court - at least I’m hoping. I don’t plan on making this difficult, but I will fight back if he does. 

It hits me that I’m thinking about  _ our  _ divorce. The two of us. The two of us - who had once been so in love that we didn’t see anyone else in the world - are splitting up. I think back to the day we got married, picturing how he had cried when I came down the aisle, covering his mouth in complete awe of me as his eyes glistened with tears - and now our relationship is over. 

I don’t answer his question. I push my way around him to get to the walk-in closet, and he turns to watch me go. “I have to get ready to take Avi to school,” I say, my back facing him as I flip through my clothes. 

He takes a few steps closer. “Why?” he asks. “Vivian will be here in a few, just like every morning.” 

I look over my shoulder, eyebrows lowered. “Well, I’m gonna take her this morning,” I say sternly. “I want to spend time with her.” 

“You’re not gonna tell her about this yet, are you?” he asks, looking irritated.

“No, Jackson,” I say, letting my towel drop as I replace it with a matching black set of bra and underwear. “Do you really think I’d do that?” 

He widens his eyes. “I have no idea what you’re capable of at this point.” 

“That’s really nice,” I say, walking back over to the sinks so I can dry my hair. He’s still watching me as I run it over my head, so I turn it off and look at him pointedly after a few minutes. “I’m gonna get ready, take our daughter to school, then go into the office and put the paperwork together. Okay? Happy?” 

Crinkles appear on his forehead. “You can’t agree with me on the divorce then shove it in my face like I’m forcing you,” he says.

I shake my head and poise my finger on the ‘on’ button of the hair dryer. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I say. “I need to get ready.” 

He walks out, unshaved - having left without doing what he came in here for, and I stare at myself in the mirror. Divorce. No one in my family has gotten divorced before, but now it’s happening to me. Of course it’s not official yet, but the idea is out there in the open. And that’s enough. 

When I’m finished getting ready for the day, dressed in a black work dress with my hair tied up in a nice bun, I glance down the hallway as I hear an interaction happening by the front door. 

“Hey, Vivian,” Jackson says. I linger with my hand on the wall, hip popped to one side. “I should’ve called earlier, it just slipped my mind. April’s gonna take Avi to school today.”

I can’t hear how Vivian responds, but Jackson’s tone doesn’t sit right with me. He makes it sound like I’m creating a nuisance by changing up the routine for a single day. 

“I just want to spend some time with my daughter,” I say, padding down the hallway in my nylons to the front door. I make eye contact with Vivian, who I haven’t seen in awhile. “Hi, Vivian. I’m sorry for making you come all the way here, I just want to spend the morning with Aveline. We’ll still pay you, of course.” 

“Oh, it’s not a pr-”

“I’m really sorry,” Jackson says. “If we would’ve known sooner, you would’ve had the morning completely off. But it was a rash, last-minute decision.”

I look at him with my lip slightly raised. “I shouldn’t be condemned for wanting to spend time with her.”

“Just seems a little sudden,” he says, head twitching. “This morning, of all mornings.” 

“Why are you questioning me?” I say incredulously. “I’m not listening to this anymore.” I flash a very artificial smile at Vivian. “Have a nice morning, Vivian. We’ll still need you this afternoon.” Then I turn on my heel and walk back down the hall, away from Jackson and into Aveline’s room. 

“Wake up, honey,” I say, sitting on the edge of her bed with my hand on her shoulder. “Time to get ready for school.”

It takes her a moment to open her eyes, then she rolls over onto her back to look at me. “Mommy?” she says confusedly. Usually, by the time she wakes up on weekdays, I’ve already left for work. “Where’s Vivi?” 

I try not to let the disappointment show on my face - the fact that she wasn’t happily surprised that I’m waking her up instead of her nanny. Instead, she wants Vivian. 

“We let her have the morning off,” I say. “I’m gonna take you to school.” 

Aveline’s face scrunches up in a dramatic pout. “I want Vivi,” she whines. “Daddy already maked her go home early yesterday. Now I didn’t see her today, either!” 

“Avi, that’s enough,” I say. “I want to spend time with you, this was supposed to be a happy surprise. I don’t want to hear any more whining. Now, what do you want to wear today?” 

With plenty of struggle, I get her into the kitchen for breakfast dressed in a pink spaghetti-strapped dress with a white t-shirt underneath it, along with her favorite high-tops.

“Where’s Daddy?” she asks, pulling herself to sit at the dining room table. 

I glance around as I pour her a bowl of cereal. “He must’ve already left for work,” I say, noticing the silence in the house. He had to have gotten ready at warp speed - when he answered the door for Vivian, he was still in his lounge clothes. I guess he really didn’t want to see either of his girls this morning. 

“Is he gonna fix people up today?” she asks. 

“Probably,” I say, whipping up some scrambled eggs for myself. “Did you wanna help me make my eggs?” 

She scurries off of her chair and comes over to me, and I give her the fork to keep stirring. She adds salt and pepper, then pours it in the frying pan. Jackson never lets her help making the eggs because he doesn’t trust her by the stove, but I know better. She knows what she’s doing. 

In the car on the way to her private school, Aveline is singing along to ‘Let Me Love You’ on the radio while we cruise down the road. I watch her in the rearview mirror when I can, seeing her green eyes of Jackson’s watch the world as it whizzes by, and feel an inexplicable amount of sadness in my heart. I can’t stop thinking about how she’ll react when we tell her. I don’t want her to cry. I don’t want her little heart to be broken, but I think it will be.

It doesn’t seem real, the conversation that Jackson and I had earlier in the bathroom. I can’t believe we had it in the bathroom, number one, as I stood in front of him in a towel. Well, actually, he’d brought it up while I was in the shower and couldn’t look at him, which is even worse. What a coward. He couldn’t even look at me as he said it. That thought alone makes me angry all over again.

I drive to work after dropping Aveline off at school and ride the elevator up to the 31st floor. I massage my temples with my fingers and take deep breaths, trying to calm myself before I have to get my brain in a whole new mindset for the day. 

When the elevator doors open, Addison and another coworker of mine, Callie Torres, are standing in the conference room, talking over coffee.

“April,” Addison says, her eyes lit up. “Morning.” 

“Hey,” I say, nodding in their direction. I make it obvious that I’m heading to my office without plans to socialize, but neither of them pick up on the cue. 

“Happy Friday,” Callie says, smiling. 

I fake one back. “Uh-huh,” I say, situating my purse on my shoulder. 

“What’s your day look like today?” Addie asks. 

“Pretty busy,” I lie. I don’t know what lies ahead of me today besides the fact that I’m getting together papers for my own divorce. Obviously I won’t be the lawyer representing us, that would be wrong on so many levels, but the gathering the paperwork is easy enough. I don’t want a friend handling our case, either. I’ll probably take our business to a different law firm altogether. “I’m working on the Handler case.” 

Callie sucks in air through her teeth. “That’s your big one, right?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” I say. I don’t elaborate, though. I don’t want to stand here and talk to them. 

Just as I’m about to escape behind my closed door, Amelia saunters up. “Hey, guys,” she says. “You’re in late today, April. Something hold you up?” 

“I took Aveline to school,” I say, not offering an explanation. 

“Oh,” Addie says. “Is Vivian sick?” 

“No. Is there something wrong with wanting to spend time with my kid?” I snap. 

Callie raises her eyebrows. “Geez, are you okay?” 

I close my eyes briefly and shake my head. “I’m fine,” I say.

“Are you sure?” Callie asks, her voice a bit softer and more comforting. “Because you’re usually Miss Vim and Vigor in the morning, and to see you like this… tells me that you’ve got some personal crap going on.” 

“I don’t-” I sigh and cut myself off. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” 

Callie clears her throat and lifts her fingers from the handle of her coffee mug in a mock-shrug. “If you need someone to talk to, I’m here. I’m the queen of taking my personal crap out on other people - especially you - so I know how you feel.” 

I laugh to myself, very softly. She has no idea how I feel. None of them do. A divorce is staring me in the face, I’m about to lose the man who I once loved more than life because he’s not willing to try for our marriage anymore. 

“I have to get some stuff done,” I say, unlocking the door to my office and stepping halfway inside as I bid my three friends goodbye. “Maybe I’ll see you guys for lunch.” 

I shut the door behind me and lean forward on my desk, my head hanging low. I shouldn’t have come into work today. I know I’m not going to be able to focus on anything, though that’s what I want most. I want to be able to lose myself in my work instead of obsessing over my marriage - or lack thereof - but it’ll be impossible. 

I sit down in my plush, rolling chair and spend a long time just staring out the window at the view of the city. It’s a cloudy day to begin with, but the tint of the glass doesn’t help with the darkness. I can see a vague outline of my reflection looking back at me, but I don’t make eye contact with it. Right now, I’m not the biggest fan of myself. 

I wish Jackson and I could sit down and talk like we used to. Communication never used to be an issue for us, we’d talk about something before it ever got the chance to grow into a problem. We’d had the healthiest relationship out of anyone we knew. 

Before I let myself drift into the nostalgia of how we used to be, I spin around in my chair and wheel over to my filing cabinet. I open the bottom drawer where all of my copied important documents stay, and pull out my manila folder for divorce cases and see what we’ll need. I shake my head as I leaf through the papers, wondering how Jackson and I became a statistic. 

During lunch, I don’t come out like I said I might. Instead, I pull out a pre-made salad from the mini-fridge under my desk and pick at it while listening to voicemails I got after I left the office yesterday. But, interrupting me, there’s a knock on the door. 

“Come in,” I say.

Amelia appears in the doorway, lunch in hand and a tentative smile on her face. “Hey,” she says. “Wanna eat together?” 

I don’t, really. But I’m too polite to turn her away. “Sure,” I say, and clear a spot across from the salad on my desk. 

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, but I can tell she’s gauging what to say and when to say it. Finally, she can’t wait any longer and spits it out. 

“You’re not okay, are you?” she asks. 

Amelia is probably the closest friend I have. Jackson has always been my best friend up until recently, but Amelia held second place. We met in law school at the same time I met Addison, but the two of us just gelled better. She’s the person who knows the most about me who I never had a romantic relationship with. 

So I give in and let my guard down, shaking my head. 

“I didn’t think so,” she says, looking at me with concern in her eyes. “Anything I can do?” 

I shake my head again as my throat closes up. I don’t want to cry. I’ve never cried at work before and I’m not about to start now. “Not really,” I say, forcing a smile through my sadness. 

“Is everything okay at home?” she says. 

I run my tongue over my lips and taste my matte lipstick. I take in a deep breath, let it out, and say, “Uh...no.” 

She raises her eyebrows with worry. “Is Avi okay?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” I say, wishing I wouldn’t have let the conversation go this far. “Yeah. It’s just…” I scratch the side of my head anxiously. “I don’t know if I should talk about it. Not yet. I’m just…” I puff my cheeks out, feeling a heavy weight on my chest. “It’s fresh.” 

As Amelia opens her mouth to say something else, my phone rings and shows a number I recognize instantly - University of Chicago Medicine - Jackson’s hospital. I screw my face up as I wonder why he could be calling and debate not answering, but I know I should. He never calls during the work day, and something might have happened to Avi at school, so I pick up the phone. 

“April Kepner-Avery speaking,” I say, then close my eyes momentarily as I bite my tongue. I need to get used to shortening my last name back to what it used to be. 

“Mrs. Kepner-Avery,” the person on the other line says. The voice isn’t Jackson’s, so I’m instantly confused. “April.” 

“This is she,” I say, sounding dubious. 

“This is Dr. Meredith Grey at UIC Medicine,” she says. “You’re listed as Dr. Avery’s emergency contact, is that correct?” 

My stomach twists and my mouth goes dry. “Yes,” I say, trying to keep a level head.

“He’s been in an accident,” she continues. “It’d be in his best interest if you came to hospital as soon as you can.” 

I lose my breath. “Is he okay?” I ask urgently. “What happened?” 

“He was on his bicycle and crashed it on Ashland,” she says. “He’s unconscious right now, I just think it would be best if you were here when he wakes up.”

“I’m on my way,” I say, and hang up the phone to look at Amelia. “Jackson…” I say, then furrow my eyebrows as I gather my purse. “He was in an accident.” 

“Is everything okay?” she says, pushing herself up from her chair. 

“Yeah… I think so, I don’t know,” I say, pulling on my blazer. “I just need…” My thoughts are flying around in my head as I try to decide what to do. “I just need to get there. They said I should be there when he wakes up, which I have no idea what that means for him, but… I need to go.” I glance at the clock. It’s around 1pm, which means that Aveline gets out of school in two-and-a-half hours. I look at Amelia and chew on the inside of my cheek. “Avi gets out of school at 3:30. Her nanny will pick her up and stay with her until 6, but is there any way you could get to my house and take her overnight?” I ask. “I know it’s a lot to ask. I wouldn’t ask… I’d never ask you to do this in any normal circumstance. I just don’t know what I’m about to walk into at the hosp-” 

“Of course,” Amelia says. “She and Owen will have a blast, like they always do.” 

“God, thank you so much,” I say, leading the way out of my office and locking the door behind us. “I’ll call you as soon as I know anything.” 

“Okay,” she says. “I’ll be waiting to hear from you. Be safe.” 

I nod and head out of the office, feeling my face heat up with a nervous blush. What did Jackson do to himself? A bike accident? That’s ironic enough, seeing as what we fought over yesterday. 

My hands shake as they grip the steering wheel, pulling out of the parking garage onto Court Street, where I turn towards LaSalle while trying to keep my mind on one thing: my driving. But that’s easier said than done when my husband of eight years is unconscious in the hospital where he works, ten miles away from me, and all I want to do is be there with him. 

God, a bike accident. Did he get hit? Did he hit someone? If he’s unconscious, I can’t help but think the worst. What if he’s on life support? What if the reason I’m going to the hospital right now is because I have to decide whether or not to pull the plug? 

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I sit at a stoplight and tell myself that I don’t know anything for sure. I shouldn’t be assuming these awful things, because all that’s going to do is work me into a frenzy. 

I can’t think about my life without Jackson in it. Divorce was child’s play in comparison to the idea of him being gone, as in dead. Even if we aren’t married, he’s still here, around on this earth. He’s still Aveline’s father. If he dies… all he’d be is a memory. 

And I can’t handle that. I won’t live a life without him in it. 

I speed down Lakeshore Drive and pull off the exit at 57th Street and try to calm myself down for the rest of the short trip to the hospital. I have to be reasonable when I go in there. I can’t fly off the handle or panic, I refuse to play the role of flustered wife. I’m going to be logical and get the information I need. I’m going to figure out what’s going on and fix it. 

When I park, I grab my purse and don’t give myself time to breathe. I clack through the parking lot in my heels and hurry through the automatic doors of the ER, finding a familiar face waiting for me. Dr. Alex Karev, who Jackson and I used to go out with all the time with his girlfriend, Jo. We haven’t gone out with them in a long time, maybe a year or two. But he still looks the same. 

“April,” he says, walking up to me with purpose. “You made it.” 

I straighten my dress. “Where is he?” I ask. “I need to see him.” 

Alex leads me down the hallway past the nurses’ station, and I keep pace with him. 

“What happened?” I ask. 

“Well, he was unconscious when he got here,” he says. 

“How did he get here?” I demand, eyebrows knitting together. 

“Oh,” Alex says. “An ambulance.” 

“And I wasn’t called?” I snap. “He was put in an ambulance and I didn’t know?” 

“We called as soon as we got a free minute,” he says, and I can see him struggling to treat me like family of a patient rather than the wife of his friend. He wants to be shorter with me, I know. I know him. 

“He is my  _ husband _ ,” I growl. “I should’ve known as soon as it happened.” 

“Well, sorry about that,” he says. “But we can’t go back and change it. At least you’re here now.” 

“Thank god for that,” I say. “Tell me what happened.” 

“He was riding his bike on Ashland on his lunch,” Alex says. “It happened right at the intersection of Armitage, you know the one with the diagonal-” 

“I know the one.” 

“He was turning right,” he says. “On Armitage. This is from a witness’s account, by the way. He was turning and almost hit someone in the crosswalk, so he swerved out of the way and crashed into the curb, which made him fly off the thing. He luckily landed on the sidewalk, but he hit his head pretty good.” 

Alex slows down, which means we must be nearing Jackson’s room. “Was he wearing his helmet?” I ask. 

“Yeah,” Alex says. “And good thing. This could’ve been way worse. We did a head CT on him and everything looks fine. No lesions or trauma or anything like that. He’s just not awake yet, which shouldn’t worry you. He could sleep through the night or wake up any minute now, it just all depends.” 

“All depends,” I repeat, then peek around the corner of the room we’ve stopped at. I gasp when I look inside and see Jackson on the hospital bed and press my hand to my heart as I step inside. 

I’ve only seen him as a patient in the hospital one other time - about seven years ago when he got his tonsils out. It was such a minor surgery and he knew it, but he acted like the biggest baby. I had been pregnant with Aveline at the time, but he acted so incapacitated, I was taking care of him for at least two weeks following. All he ate was ice cream, and I made fun of him constantly for the weight he gained, and he pretended to be annoyed with me and said that he was only trying to match my belly. 

I walk over to his bed now and sit on the side of it, wondering if it’s okay to touch him. He probably wouldn’t want me to, but my urge to comfort him is hard to resist. So I do the very least I can, which is take his hand and set it on my lap, running my fingers over the map of veins on the top of it - the veins that I know so well, the veins I have memorized. I smile to myself as I think about the fact that I have pretty much everything about him memorized. 

I feel a jolt of nervousness when a what-if scenario plays out in my mind where he never wakes up. I see myself having to support him as a vegetable lying here, being fed through tubes and wires, kept alive by machines. All because of a stupid bike accident where he was trying not to hit someone else. Typical. 

Instantly, I feel guilty for not only the fight that transpired between us last night, but all the ones preceding it. We’ve been arguing for almost a year straight, and if that was the way he had to spend his last year on earth, that wasn’t very fair to him. And it was all my fault. 

I look over at Alex, who’s still standing in the doorway. “He’s gonna wake up, right?” I ask, voice wavering. 

“He should,” Alex says. “There’s nothing in his tests that says he won’t. But I can’t tell you anything for sure until he’s awake and we can see what’s going on in his head, if there’s any damage or anything like that.”

I nod to myself and look back down at Jackson’s face. I see his chest rising and falling, and the calmness of his features looks exactly how it does when he’s only sleeping, though I haven’t seen him asleep for a while now. I miss it. I miss waking up before him in the mornings, which I always did, and just watching him. Sometimes, that was my favorite part of the day. 

He was so easy to fall in love with. 

I stay sitting on the edge of his bed for a long time even though it’s not the most comfortable place in the world, and pull out my phone after awhile. It’s 4pm, which means that Vivan and Aveline are probably home by now. I dial Vivian’s number and speak quietly, turning away from Jackson so I don’t disturb him. 

I catch the nanny up on everything that’s happened and the fact that Amelia is going to come pick up Aveline after she eats dinner. Vivian sounded decently concerned about Jackson, but I almost want her to be more worried. The love of my life - or at least, the man who one was the love of my life - might be hanging in the precipice. This is the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me, not knowing what will come next. 

I call Amelia and tell her what’s going on; the vague details, at least. She doesn’t ask pressing questions about Jackson’s condition, and I’m thankful. I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want this to get around, I don’t want other people to be thinking about us. If we just keep this within a handful of people, when it’s over we can act like it never happened. I can pretend that my stomach that’s twisting with nerves for my husband’s life never felt this way, and I never had to picture a life without him. We can tell the story as he had a fall and a concussion, maybe. These feelings never have to play a part.

My phone rings a few minutes after I hang up with Amelia and see Vivian’s caller ID showing back up. I look at it confusedly, but pick it up anyway. 

“Hello?” 

“Mommy?” It’s Aveline. 

“Hi, Avi, honey,” I say, my voice growing softer. “Hi, sweetie. What’s up?”

“Are you gonna be home tonight, mommy?” she asks. 

I can’t help the warmth that grows in my chest knowing that she wants me over Vivian. It shouldn’t mean to me as much as it does, I know that, but I can’t help it.

“No, I don’t think so,” I say. “At least not until late. That’s why you’re going to go stay with Auntie Amelia and Uncle Owen.” 

“But where are you?” she asks. 

I wet my lips and wonder what I should say. I can’t get any words out before she speaks again. 

“Are you with Daddy?”

I look down at her sleeping father with his hand rested limply on my thigh and trace the hospital band on his wrist. I let my eyes wander his face and pause for another moment, then say, “Yeah, honey. I am.” 

“Are you on a date?” she asks, and I hear a giggle in her voice. 

I laugh, too, but not in the same way. “Uh, not quite,” I say. “Just something for work. I’ll be back tomorrow, though, around the time I’d usually get home. I’ll see you then, okay?” 

“And Daddy, too?” she asks. 

I don’t know if I should be promising her anything, but I do it anyway. “Daddy, too,” I say, solidifying it. I hope I don’t regret saying that later. “I love you, baby bird.” 

She giggles at the nickname that we’ve called her since she was a tiny baby. “Love you, mama,” she says. 

“I’ll call and tell you goodnight later, okay?” 

She says okay and I hang up the phone and sigh as I look down at her father, eyes still closed, beside me. “That baby bird loves you,” I say. I want to reach up and stroke his cheek, but I don’t do it. If he were awake, I know he’d shrink away from me. And I don’t want to take advantage of him in this state.

I get up off the bed and sit in the chair next to it, kicking off my heels to make myself more comfortable. I rest my cheek in my palm as I lean to the side, and my eyes threaten to close even though I’m not sure I should let them. I do eventually, though, and tell myself I won’t nap for long.

The windows are dark when I wake up, though, and what pulled me away from sleep was the crinkling sound of Jackson’s sheets moving. I blink my eyes open hard and wake up instantly as I watch him move, then stand over him and grasp one of his hands in both of mine. 

He fights to open his eyes, but when they do, I feel an intense feeling of relief wash over me in a wave. I let out a long breath and smile, hovering over his face as he reorients himself with the world. 

“Hi,” I say softly, so I won’t startle him. I want to hold his face in my hands and show him how relieved I am that he’s awake, but I don’t do that. I keep my hands on his and control myself.

He raises his eyebrows and continues to blink at me, not saying anything for a moment. 

“Hi,” I say again, stroking his hand. “You okay? You know where you are?” I know I probably shouldn’t be asking him questions right after he’s woken up, but I can’t help it. I just want to know that he’s okay. I should probably call Alex in, but I can’t make myself do that yet. I need to look at Jackson for a second first. 

He smacks his lips together and I can hear how dry his mouth is. I hand him a Styrofoam cup of water and he drinks it all, then sets it down gently and makes eye contact with me before saying, “Hey, baby girl.”

I can’t help but look at him with confused shock written on my face. Baby girl? I can’t remember the last time he called me that. It used to be the most common pet name he’d use for me, ever since our relationship turned serious a couple months after we met in that bar. Baby girl. The words rolled off of his tongue like honey and he doesn’t look like he wants to take them back. It looks like to him, they were routine, there was nothing special about him calling me that. Baby girl. 

I don’t say anything about it, though. I don’t know what condition his head is in and I don’t want to upset him. “Hey,” I say again, and he smiles. 

I can’t remember the last time he smiled at me. His smiles are special - dazzling and hard to come by. He used to save them just for me, and I loved that about us. I saw a side of him that no one else did - the happy, silly, carefree side that flashed me smiles every other second. Everyone else saw the side that I’d gotten used to over the past year - the serious, sullen, moody side. 

“Just got a question,” he says, stroking my forearm. I look down to where he’s touching me and notice how comfortable he looks. This all feels so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. 

We haven’t touched like this in months. So casual, so loving, so...married. 

“What’s that?” I ask, my voice gentle.

“Why am I in a dress?” he laughs, looking down at himself. 

I can’t help but smirk. When was the last time he joked with me like this? “You’re at the hospital,” I say. 

His eyes grow wide and his mouth turns down in a silly frown. “What happened?” he asks. “Did you make me give birth, or something?” He rubs his head. “Ouch. Or bash me over the head with that Rachel Ray frying pan you love?” 

That red frying pan. I had forgotten about that one, I really did used to love it. But we haven’t had it for a while now, I threw it out because the lining started to chip. 

“No,” I say. “I… I don’t think I should explain it to you. Let me call Alex in here.” 

I get Alex in the room and move out of his way so he can do some routine checks on Jackson - testing his reflexes, reaction time, and the dilation of his pupils. 

“Everything looks fine,” Alex says. “You crashed your bike, dude. On Ashland and Armitage.” 

Jackson widens his eyes, this time he’s actually shocked. “I did?” he says, sounding disbelieving. 

“Yeah…” Alex says, then scribbles something down on his clipboard. “You don’t remember?” 

Jackson shakes his head, then looks to me. “He’s not yanking my chain, is he, babe?” 

I shake my head, but eye him all the same. Something is not right here. First baby girl, now babe, acting like neither of them are out of place. He hasn’t called me pet names in such a long time, and these are more than just an accident. They’re deliberate and routine. 

Alex shoots me a look and I shoot him one back.

“What’s the last thing you can remember, Avery?” he asks. 

Jackson taps his chin and tips his head up towards the ceiling, then his mouth opens in a gasp. “Of course,” he says, nodding. “It’s this one’s birthday!”

He pulls me closer to the bed by wrapping an arm around my waist, and I stumble over. I’ve never been more confused in my life. My birthday was last month, and it’s the middle of May now. 

“We were having a party at the house,” he says, then points at Alex. “You were there. I swear you’re fucking with me right now.” 

Alex shakes his head. “Just keep telling me what you remember, man.” 

Jackson flashes an expression like he’s just going along to get along. “Okay, well, we were having a party. You and Jo were there, Owen and Amelia, Addie and… did she bring Derek?” 

Addison hasn’t been with Derek for a while. They broke up last summer. 

“She did bring Derek,” he says, nodding. “Sofia was there, playing with Avi, which means that Callie was there, too. Your friend Callie, from the firm? With her wife Arizona, and Mark. There were a lot of people there, I think your family was there, too. Right, babe? We surprised you.”

He’s not talking about my birthday that just passed. He’s talking about the one last year, my 32nd birthday. He and all those people he just mentioned threw me a surprise party at the apartment, and it had been so much fun. 

“And that’s the last thing I got,” he says. “I was riding my bike after the party?” He looks puzzled. “That doesn’t really make sense. Why would I do that?” He chuckles to himself. “I know what I wanted to do after everyone left.” He eyes me. “And it had nothing to do with riding my bike. I owe  _ someone _ some birthday sex.” 

My face flames. “Jackson,” I hiss, eyes wide. 

“Hold tight, Avery,” Alex says, and takes me by the wrist out of his hospital room and shuts the glass door. 

“What’s going on with him?” I ask, darting my eyes back inside. Jackson is looking around the room curiously, contentedly. “That party was a little more than a year ago. Why does he think it just happened?” 

Alex sighs. “I can’t prove it without a few tests,” he says. “But I can tell you with barely a shadow of a doubt that he has a pretty heady case of retrograde amnesia.” 

Amnesia. The word sits like a stone in my stomach, and I can’t believe it. Amnesia happens to people in the movies, not in real life. And especially not to me, not to my husband. 

“Are you serious?” I ask, holding onto the window frame for support. My heartbeat starts to speed up and I look back in at Jackson, who’s totally unaware. “Well, we have to tell him. I’ll tell him, he won’t like it, but-” 

“No, no, no,” Alex says. “You don’t tell him anything. That’s…” He shakes his head. “No. That’s a bad idea. He’s gonna lose his mind if you run in there and start talking at him that he has amnesia.” He takes a deep breath. “You let me handle this. Until then…” He nods towards the room. “You’re married to the dude. Act like it. Agree with what he says and his timeline. Don’t mess him up. If you just go along with what he says, it’s gonna make things easier. Try not to upset him.”

I give him a baffled look. “You’re telling me that I have to play this amnesia game like he doesn’t know any better?” I can’t wrap my head around this. It seems wrong, but I can’t put the words together as to why. 

Alex nods. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” 


	3. Chapter 3

I get a sick, twisting feeling in my stomach as I shake my head and stare at Alex’s face. “No,” I say. “I won’t do that to him. I’m not gonna _lie_ to him.”

Alex sighs, tapping his pen on his clipboard. “I’m not saying that,” he says. “I’m saying you can’t shove a bunch of information at him all at once. It has to be spread out and on his terms. If you just go telling him everything he missed in the last year, he’s gonna go freakin’ psycho.”

I pause for a moment, turning over what he said.

“I mean, wouldn’t you?” he prompts.

“Yes, yes,” I say, pushing my flat hand out at him. “I’m thinking. Just let me think. This is a lot… a lot to take in.”

“I understand,” he says, glancing in at Jackson.

I follow his eyes. “He doesn’t even know,” I say. “He doesn’t know anything he missed. My birthday party, the one he’s talking about, that was April 23rd of last year. And you’re telling me...nothing? He has nothing after that?”

Alex shrugs slightly. “I’m gonna have to get neuro down here to do some tests on him. We’ll know more after that.”

I sit and wait in Jackson’s empty hospital room while that happens, worrying over the myriad of possible outcomes. He remembered me easily, but what about his daughter? Will he get freaked out when she’s a year older than he remembers? Will he get scared when he realizes that life has gone by for an entire year without him having any recollection of it happening? I think I would.

When he gets wheeled back into his room with Derek Shepherd behind his chair, he looks content and pleasant. He doesn’t look like whatever tests they did upset him, which comforts me.

“So,” Derek says, after Jackson lies back down. He sits down at the foot of the bed and flips through some papers he’s holding. We’ve known Derek for a while - Jackson met him at the hospital, then we learned that he’s Amelia’s brother. Chicago really is a small town when it comes down to it. “We’re looking at a pretty clear case of retrograde amnesia. Dr. Karev hit it right on the head.” He shoots a look over to Jackson. “Apologies for my poor choice in words, but you understand.”

Jackson nods. This must not be the first time he’s hearing his diagnosis.

“So you can’t remember anything following April 23rd, 2016,” Derek says, then looks at me. “But he has no trouble forming new memories. There’s no trace of anterograde in his case, which is a good thing.” He looks back to Jackson. “But that year - roughly, a year - is completely blank.”

“He can’t remember anything about it?” I ask, stunned. It still doesn’t seem real. This happens in soap operas and romance novels. I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that it’s happened to us.

“He can’t,” Derek says. “We did extensive testing. Right now, it’s a blank spot in his memory. He can recall memories as far back as you or I could prior to that date - he was telling me all about your honeymoon, actually.” He chuckles. “But that year, for the time being, is erased.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “What do you mean by ‘for the time being?’”

Derek nods. “The human brain is the most complicated organ in the body,” he says. “It’s hard to predict nearly anything about it, though we can try. Amnesia is one of the lesser explored anomalies, mostly because there’s not really a clear reason as to why it occurs. Sometimes, patients with a prognosis like his have memories that come back. He could get that year back tomorrow, or he never could. It really just depends.”

I clasp my hands together. “Depends?” I repeat. “Depends on what? Are they pills he can take, medicine to help him remember? Some sort of treatment you can give him?”

I don’t like talking about Jackson like he’s not here, but I can’t help it. I feel like I have to be his voice right now.

“There’s currently no medication that treats amnesia,” Derek says. “But occupational therapy can help. So we’ve organized him to come see a therapist once a week, and I have hope that that will do him some good.” He looks up from his papers to meet my eyes. “The person who can help him the most, though, is you, April.”

I chew on the inside of my bottom lip. “Me?”

He nods. “You know him better than anyone else. You’ve been married for almost ten years, you’ve shared a life. Everything he experienced, you were there for. He’s gonna need you now more than ever, to help him get back that information.”

Suddenly, the weight of that daunting task settles on my shoulders and threatens to make me collapse. I glance down when I feel Jackson’s hand on my thigh, then over to his face. His eyes are warm and loving, and he’s looking at me with an expression I haven’t seen him wear in so long.

This is a dangerous game. It’s like everything that happened in the past year - everything bad, everything that made our marriage take a nosedive - is gone, erased. How many times have I wished for this exact thing to happen? And now it did. His memory is wiped and as far as he knows, we’re just as happily married as we were during my surprise birthday party last year.

This isn’t right. My hands are cold and clammy with nerves; I don’t know if I can do this.

But I have to.

“Are you okay with that?” Derek asks. “Can you handle it?”

“Of course I can,” I answer, quickly.

“Good,” he says. “But there’s no shame if you can’t. There are caregivers-”

“My wife is the best caregiver around,” Jackson says, piping up for the first time. He strokes my thigh with his thumb, and I get goosebumps because of it. His simple, routine touch is capable of doing that to me, just because I haven’t felt it in so long. I didn’t realize just how much I missed it, how much I missed him.

I’m already feeling guilty for how much I’m enjoying this, though I’m trying not to.

“She’ll take good care of me,” Jackson says, squeezing my leg.

I overlap his hand with my own, and it feels natural. “I’ll take good care of him,” I echo, like a promise. “What about work? Will he be able to work?”

Derek shakes his head. “No,” he says. “Not at first, at least. We’ll watch his progression, see if there are any improvements. If it looks like his memory isn’t going to come back, then we’ll talk about his returning to the hospital. But he needs time. So take him home, let him rest, remind him of things.” He looks at me pointedly. “Slowly. Pace is very important. Don’t overload, that won’t help anyone. It’ll overwhelm him and frustrate you. So just do a little bit at a time, and have fun with it. Just reminisce, talk about memories. The littlest things can help.”

I nod slowly. “Okay,” I say. “I can do that.”

***

When I switch on the lights in the apartment, Jackson looks around curiously.

“What are you looking for?” I ask. During the car ride, he was watching the city like something might have changed on him, but nothing had. He held my hand for the entire ride, maybe for comfort and stability, or maybe just because that’s what he’s used to, but I let him do it either way.

It made me feel good, too.

“Just looking around to see what’s changed,” he says, chuckling softly. “I feel like I need a tour of my own house.”

“Well, we got new countertop,” I say, laying my hands flat on the black surface. “Remember? It used to be-”

“White,” he says. “But I like the black.”

“You should,” I say, smiling. “You picked it out.”

He nods and smirks. “Good job, past me.” He keeps looking around. “What else is new?”

“Um…” I say, following his eyes. I try and find things that we’ve updated in the past year, but things like that slip my mind easily. For the past ten months, I haven’t been home as much as I used to be. “Well, we painted Avi’s room.”

He raises his eyebrows and walks toward it. “Oh, yeah?” he says.

“Yep,” I reply. “She said that she wanted a ‘big girl’ color, and the baby pink wasn’t good enough anymore. So…” I push open her door and flick on the light, welcomed by a lilac purple.

“Purple,” he says, one hand resting on her low, white dresser by the door. “Where is she?”

I flick the light back off and walk to the doorway, where I leave my shoes on the mat. “With Owen and Amelia,” I say. “I asked Amy to pick her up after Vivian got off. I… told her I’d call and say goodnight, but it got late. I’d just be waking her up now.”

“How’s she doing?” he asks. “She must be… six?”

I nod. “Six, yeah,” I say. “She’s good. She’s… great. She’s almost done with kindergarten, smart as a whip.”

“Well, that’s nothing new,” he says.

“You were teaching her to ride a bike,” I say. “I hope you can teach her to ride better than you can ride one yourself.”

He pretends to be offended, screwing his face up in fake-pain. “Ooh, low blow,” he says.

I giggle and lock the front door, wondering for the first time where he’ll sleep. I’m not ready to tell him about our downward spiral yet. Derek said not too much at once, and that is the exact definition of too much. He can’t remember the past year in its entirety - what kind of monster would I be to tell him that we were about to file for divorce? I can’t do that to him. I’m not sure how I’m going to handle it yet, but I tell myself that tonight is not the night.

“You must be tired,” I say, trailing my hand along the back of the couch as I turn the lights off in the kitchen.

“I’m actually not,” he says, eyeing me.

“No?” I ask. “Are you hungry? Do you wanna eat something?” I open the fridge and peer inside, but feel his arms snake around my waist before I can get far. “Jackson…” I trail off.

“What?” he murmurs, his face in the side of my neck. The fridge’s cool air is blowing on me, which is good, because my skin feels like it’s on fire. He spreads his fingers out on my belly and bunches my dress up in his fists when he closes them, pressing his hips insistently against my ass.

I try not to let myself get lost in the way his body feels pressed against mine. I haven’t felt his lips on my neck in so, so long, so the feeling nearly makes me melt into a heap to the floor. His mouth is open as his tongue runs over my skin and his arms wrap tighter around my middle, and I feel an insistent tightening in my groin.

I pull my lower lip into my mouth and moan, but pull away at the same time. “I…” I say, closing my eyes. “I don’t think we should…”

Everything in my body is protesting my protests. I want nothing more than to let him take me in a way he hasn’t in months, but I don’t know how wrong that is. Wouldn’t that be taking advantage of him in some sort of way?

“What?” he says. “Because you think my brain’s all blended?”

Now the fridge is closed, with my back resting against it. He’s standing in front of me, hands resting on the flat wooden paneling on either side of my head.

“Well, I wasn’t thinking those words, but…” I sigh and lift my eyes to meet his.

“It’s only the year I can’t remember,” he says. “Baby girl, I’m still me. Ask me anything, and I’ll know it.”

“Jackson…” I say, hands pulled up close to my chest.

“Come on,” he says. “Fine. I’ll prove it to you. You work at Clifford Law Offices, you’re an attorney there. A badass one, might I add. We met at Three Dots and A Dash, when your ballsy little ass came up to me and basically asked me to kiss you, back in 2008. Right when you finished law school and passed your Bar. Our first date, we went to Navy Pier and rode the ferris wheel, except you didn’t tell me you were afraid of heights until we were already at the top, and you had your eyes closed the whole time.”

We both chuckle a little bit at that.

“We got engaged on New Year’s Day in 2009 and married on October 18th of that same year, and god, you looked beautiful. I cried when you walked down the aisle because you were officially gonna be mine. Like, forever. I’d never seen someone look as beautiful as you did, and now I get to see that every single day.” He lowers his arms from the fridge to rest on my hips, and I let him. “We went to Bali for our honeymoon and spent more time naked than not. I remember that really damn clearly.”

He’s breaking me down and he knows it.

“Baby bird was born on August 8th, 2010. It was the happiest day of our lives. Aveline Claire, the most gorgeous baby to ever live. Her first word was ‘mama,’ of course. But ‘dada’ didn’t come long after.” His grip tightens on my hips and he presses his forehead against mine. “Your birthday is on April 23rd - the last one I remember is when you turned 32, but 33 never looked better on anyone.” He turns his face to press his lips against the corner of my jaw, and heat pools between my legs. “And I know it’s not your birthday anymore… but we can pretend that it is, as long as I can give you some well-deserved birthday sex.”

My breath escapes me in a shaky gust. “Yeah,” I agree, eyelids fluttering as I nod.

I can practically hear his smirk. “Yeah?” he says, one hand sneaking lower to roughly grab my ass.

I press my lips together tightly and bite my lip with my eyes closed, then feel him tug it out from between my teeth. “Let me take you to bed,” he breathes, his nose pressed against my cheekbone. “I need to have sex with my wife.”

That does it. I nod slightly and he picks me up from the ground, which causes me to shriek excitedly as he carries me to our room, turned my room, now turned back into our room.

He sets my feet down on the ground and grips the skirt of my dress to pull it off over my head, and I lift my arms to help. As I stand in front of him in the matching black bra and underwear set that he’d seen this morning, he doesn’t look away. He skims my body with his eyes and drinks it in, which makes me feel special and wanted. I haven’t felt this way as he looks at me in a long time.

He strips down to his boxers and wraps his arms around my waist, walking with me to fall back onto the bed where I lie on my back and watch him as he joins me. I want to touch him, I need to get my hands on him, and I don’t want to wait any longer. I push myself up on one elbow and grapple for the waistband of his boxers, but he moves my wrist away.

“You’re overdue for a birthday present,” he says. “I’m treating you first.”

I flop onto my back with a breathless sigh and watch his lips pull up in a sly smirk. He winds one arm around my back and unclasps my bra with the expert ease he’s always had, and I straighten my arms so he can pull it off. He throws it to the end of the bed and dips his head to my chest, where he wastes no time in covering my breast with his warm, wet mouth.

His lips feel amazing. I can’t remember the last time he really touched any part of my body, no less gave me attention like this. I spread my legs and his hand sneaks down my torso to rest between them, over my underwear.

I can’t resist. As he nips small sections of my skin underneath my breast, I lift my hips to meet his hand that’s stroking me. My arms are bent at the elbows, resting above my head as my chin is bent to watch him do what he hasn’t done in months.

He continues to work on my breast, centering in on the nipple and pulling it between his teeth, which makes my hips jolt up out of my control. I feel him smile against my skin as he rubs a hand higher on my belly, over the soft peach fuzz as he scoots his body closer to mine.

“You’re a damn masterpiece,” he says, lips moving against the soft skin around my nipple. “God, I can’t believe you.”

I smile breathlessly and wrap one of my arms around the back of his neck, touching the shell of his ear with my fingertips. He looks up at me as I do so and we lock eyes, then he pushes himself up to kiss me on the lips.

It’s the first time we’ve kissed in ages, but I could never forget how his mouth feels on mine. He pushes his tongue past the seam of my lips and I raise my eyebrows as one hand sneaks back between my legs, still rubbing me over the material of my panties. I rest my free hand on the flat plane of his chest and kiss him harder, opening my mouth wide as I turn my head at an angle, and I feel his erection pressing insistently to the side of my thigh.

As we continue to kiss more passionately than we’ve kissed in months, his hand keeps working through my underwear. My legs are parted as far as they’ll go and I keep raising my hips to meet him, but it’s not enough. And he knows it. He scoops his hand lower to stroke my inner thigh and I copy his motion, slipping my hand between our bodies to graze over his penis, but he makes a sound of protest into my mouth.

“This is for you,” he murmurs, lips moving against my own.

With that, he slips his hand inside the front of my underwear and touches me - skin on skin. I lose my breath and gasp as he still kisses my parted lips and chin, feeling the pads of his fingers rub in circles right on the place he used to be so familiar with.

I can barely kiss him back. My mouth is loose against his as he makes me lose my breath, and I keep twisting the fabric on the hip of his boxers with my fingers as he pushes his inside of me. The room is filled with sounds from our bodies - the wet smack of our lips as they part and rejoin, and my soft sighs as he teases me. It’s so much better than the silence this room usually finds itself in.

After a few minutes, he starts kissing me harder - his head moving forcefully against mine as his fingers keep working, and my hips writhe from his touch. I wind my arm around his back and trace the muscles of his shoulder blades, my feet flat against the mattress as my knees are still spread wide - now his fingers are pinpointing a specific spot and changing speed every few seconds.

He pulls away from my lips and tucks his face into my neck, opening his mouth and sucking on sections of my skin, leaving trails of saliva in his wake. I lean my head to the opposite side and sigh loudly, keeping my eyes closed as he gives me everything I need.

When he moves back to my mouth, the sound of our sloppy kisses fill the room again and I plant my hand on his chest, circling his nipple with my manicured fingernail. It hardens quickly beneath my touch as I rub my thumb over it, and he moans into my mouth as he pulls at the waistband of my underwear and takes them off, and I help by lifting my legs and welcoming his hand once they’re gone.

He teases me with one finger and moves his mouth back to mine, kissing me hungrily as he gently strokes my outer lips as my hips continue to squirm.

Then, with his mouth attached to my breast again, he pushes one finger all the way inside me.

“Yes…” I moan, grip tightening on his shoulder. He moves it around and I can’t help the moan that escapes me as I throw my head to the side, my hand gently ghosting over his before moving back to rest on the pillow above me. I spread my legs further as he pushes another finger inside me, and open my mouth to let out a struggled-sounding groan. “Oh…” I sigh. “My god…”

I can’t help the way my legs are moving as he pumps his fingers roughly, or the way my mouth falls open as he tries to kiss me.

I let out a high-pitched gasp as I feel the muscles in my lower belly tense, and he kisses my chin and the area around my mouth as my lips part. I gasp again, one hand rushing down to grip his wrist as he continues to pump his fingers.

I kiss him desperately, my knees pressing together instead of falling apart, and keep a good grip on his wrist as I make involuntary sounds. It feels so good, but it’s so much, so part of me wants to push him away. But at the same time, I want him closer, so my fingers just end up dancing around the heel of his palm as he gets me closer and closer to coming.

When it happens, I cry out and I don’t try to keep quiet. There’s no kid in the house to explain myself to in the morning, and I have him where I haven’t in a long time. He kisses me as best he can as I turn this way and that, and when it’s over and my chest is heaving, I roll on my side and kiss him slowly, holding the side of his face.

“Oh, my god,” I breathe, the space between my legs still pulsing.

He smirks. “That good, huh?”

I nod shakily, my whole body buzzing. He starts to move away from me, and the conditioned part of me thinks he must be leaving to go back into the guest room. But of course, he doesn’t. He doesn’t even know that the guest bedroom is where he’s been staying.

Instead, he pries my legs apart again and settles between them, running his hands up my hipbones as he gets comfortable. “Oh, Jackson,” I whisper. “You don’t have-”

“Happy belated birthday,” he says, kissing the most intimate part of me.

I don’t say anything else. I press my eyes shut and concentrate on the way his tongue feels, and let myself get lost in what he can do to me. I almost forgot how good he is. Almost.

Before he makes me come with his tongue, he re-situates and covers my body with his own, pushing his erection inside of me slowly and deftly.

He makes slow, vocal love to me in a way we haven’t in what feels like forever. When he comes, his face is buried in my neck and he has one hand on my breast, hips still thrusting against me so I can go, too. I clutch at his shoulder blades when it happens, and let a shuddering breath escape me.

We don’t move after it’s over, which is something I relish. I’ve grown accustomed to him pulling out quickly and leaving the room, so the fact that he wants to stay close is so much to handle that it almost makes me cry.

I drag my fingernails down his back as he breathes on top of me, pressing lazy kisses to my sternum. “April,” he murmurs.

“Hmm,” I say softly in response.

“I love you.”

Tears spring to my eyes and my breath catches in my throat. I take a moment to respond just because of how much his words shock me, but I do respond.

“I love you, too,” I whisper, hugging him close.

I close my eyes and find it hard to believe that just a month ago, a very different birthday of mine had passed. Unlike the year before, where Jackson organized a surprise party to end all surprise parties, my 33rd birthday had passed without any pomp or circumstance. I had gotten home from work late and found Aveline already in bed and Jackson watching TV in the living room. He looked over his shoulder, given me a half-assed smile and muttered the sentiment. He got me flowers that were sitting on the kitchen counter - my favorite, like always - a bouquet of peonies and snapdragons. There was a little card inside, but it didn’t say anything personal, really. Just a ‘Happy Birthday’ with a heart drawn underneath it and his named signed.

We hadn’t been doing well, though, so I’d appreciated that small gesture. It was more than I’d expected, so it was alright with me. Aveline had made me something at school, a card of some sort, that was already hanging on the fridge. I had turned 33 without celebration, but that was just the way life had grown to be. Everything happened without much celebration, we’d fallen into a dull and predictable routine.

But now, lying here in Jackson’s arms, things feel like they used to. Before our downward spiral began, before things turned bad. Looking into his face, I feel renewed and refreshed. His eyes are sparkling and he’s present, holding me and telling me he loves me. This is the husband I knew, this is the husband I missed.

“Monkey,” he says, and I let out a little giggle at the nickname. I almost forgot he used to call me that, it had long since been buried in my subconscious. I hate the nickname ‘Ape’ and ‘Apes,’ and told him this not long after we started dating. He agreed and said that apes aren’t cute, but other monkeys are. So, it came to be. And it stuck.

“Yeah?”

We’re lying nose-to-nose now, and he curls a bit of my hair behind my ear. “Tell me about Avi,” he says.

I smile softly. “She’s getting tall,” I say, holding onto his wrist. “She gets that from her daddy, I think.”

“She definitely didn’t get it from her tiny-ass mama,” he says, chuckling.

I laugh, too. “She loves math,” I say. “Sometimes, in the car, she’ll ask us to give her numbers to add and subtract for fun. She wants to start learning multiplication and division. She’s so smart, Jackson. She likes fashion, she spends a long time picking out her outfits in her morning. She’s gonna buy us out of house and home when she’s a teenager, we’ve joked about that.”

I lift my eyes to look at him and see that he’s listening, enraptured, to every word I’m saying.

“Is it scary?” I ask.

He takes in a deep breath. “Yeah,” he admits. “A little. It’s just… weird. It feels like it’s a year ago, it doesn’t feel like I missed anything. It doesn’t feel like there’s a big blank space or anything like that. It feels like that whole year never happened. Even though I know it did. It’s like I went back in time or something.”

As he runs his fingers through my hair, a very selfish thought runs through my mind. I don’t want him to remember.

A year ago, everything was great between us. Everything was like it is right now, nothing had gone wrong yet. The three events that pushed us over the edge hadn’t occurred and we were still in a simple, beautiful marriage. We said ‘I love you’ multiple times a day, we sent each other texts when the other crossed our minds, we made dinner together and took Avi on little outings after school when we could. We were still, of course, busy working parents, but we made it work.

There was no animosity. There wasn’t even the thought that animosity between us could ever be possible. We had the relationship that all of our friends coveted and the one they all talked about.

A year later, now they talk about us for a different reason. With hushed tones and sympathetic glances, because they remember, too, what we had once been.

“Can you tell me a few things?” Jackson asks, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to my lips.

I nod.

“I still work at the hospital, right?” he asks.

“Yes,” I answer. “You’re head of plastics at UIC Medicine, just like you were a year ago. Nothing’s changed there, except they did give you a raise.”

“Nice,” he says, nodding to himself. “And what about you? Did you make partner?”

A sour taste appears in my mouth and I find it hard to meet his eyes, but I still answer him. “No,” I say, without elaborating.

His forehead crinkles a bit, but he doesn’t ask questions. “And… are we still trying for another baby?” he says.

I blink and roll over onto my back, taking the covers with me to cover my chest. “No,” I answer again, just as simply.

“Oh,” he says, sounding confused. “Why not?”

I swallow hard. The story is more than I’m willing to burden him with at the moment. “Not the right time,” I say, and hope he accepts the answer.

Jackson without amnesia wouldn’t have. Not in a million years. But this Jackson - the soft, unaware Jackson who lost a year of his life - does. “Oh,” he says, wrapping an arm around my belly. He kisses my shoulder and asks, “You sleepy?”

I stare at the ceiling. Right now, I’m more awake than I’ve been all day and I know that there’s no way I’ll be able to shut my eyes. “Yeah,” I lie.

“It’s been a long day,” he says.

I turn my head to look at him and skim my fingertips over his closely-shaved head. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask. “I want to make sure before we go to sleep.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “You can help me remember more in the morning. But right now, I just wanna go to sleep. Here, with you.”

“Okay,” I say, overlapping his forearm with one hand. “Goodnight.”

“And?” he prompts, eyelids heavy.

It takes me a second to remember what he’s waiting to hear. It’s been such a long time since we fell asleep together, no less went through this routine.

“And I love you,” I say. Back when everything was good, we never went to sleep without saying it.

“And I love you,” he repeats back, quietly. He closes his eyes with his head rested on my bare chest, rising and falling as I breathe.

I try and fall asleep, too, but just as I thought - it doesn’t work. His words ring back through my mind as his body is heavy on top of me.

_Are we still trying for another baby?_

I think of the empty, unused office that we’d planned on turning into a nursery had it ever happened. We had pink paint left over from Aveline’s old room that we were going to use if we had another girl, but we didn’t want to use blue if it was a boy. Yellow. If we had a little boy, his room was going to be yellow.

Jackson brought up the subject last March. We’d been in a good place with our marriage and our jobs, and he said that he hated growing up as an only child. He didn’t want Avi to be lonely like he’d been, only relying on herself, her parents and her nanny for companionship. He wanted another kid for her, another baby, another little life that was a mixture of the both of us running around the house.

I had joked with him and said that we’d have to pay Vivian double, but he’d been serious. He wanted another baby. I wasn’t sold on the idea, but I was sucked in by his passion. He loved Aveline with everything he had, and he still does. His little girl was and is his world. I knew he’d be a great father to two, I just didn’t know how well I’d be able to match his abilities.

But I went for it. Without having the same dedication to growing our family that he did, I played along. I went off the pill and tracked my ovulation and best fertility times with an app on my phone that has long since been deleted. We tried, and we didn’t even have to try that hard. By May, I missed my period, took a test, and found out I was pregnant.

May 23rd, 2016. That was the day we found out. Even though I hadn’t been crazy about the idea beforehand, now that it was real, I matched Jackson’s excitement. We went out to dinner with Aveline, but didn’t tell her what we were celebrating - we wanted to wait just a little bit longer.

But she was happy that we were happy. I don’t know if I’d ever seen Jackson happier than when we found out except for the day we got married and the day Aveline was born. He couldn’t wait to be a dad again.

And two weeks later, I found out I was in the running to make partner my firm. Ever since I passed my Bar exam, making partner had been a dream of mine. It’s every ambitious lawyer’s dream - I’d make more money, have more responsibility, and own part of the company. That was what I’d been striving for, I just never thought the opportunity would be presented to me so soon.

Jackson didn’t match my excitement for my potential promotion, though. He didn’t want me putting unnecessary stress on the baby as I tried to prove myself to my higher-ups. He was also worried that I wouldn’t have enough time for the baby once it was born if I did end up getting the position, and I couldn’t see why he found it impossible to be happy for me in regards to something I’d been working for my entire law career.

It’s when the fights started.

_I’m starting to think that your job means more to you than our baby._

_How could you say something like that? Of course my family is the most important thing. You, Avi, this baby - you three come first._

_Then why do you seem more excited about this job than you ever did about getting pregnant?_

_You sprang the idea of another kid on me! I’ve been working towards partner since I was 25._

It was the argument that we had in hushed tones after Aveline went to bed. They were small in comparison to the ones that would follow. This was something we could get over - it was a hurdle to jump. Both of us knew that we could do it together - I could do the same amount of work pregnant, at least for the most part, as I could when I wasn’t with child. Once I made partner, I’d have the baby and Vivian would have to work extra hours, but we could afford to pay her double if that’s what she needed. We’d figure it all out. We could have everything. A two-child family with a father who was the head of his department at the hospital and a mother who was partner at her law firm.

But things fell apart.

It was the last day of June when it happened. I woken up in the middle of the night with severe cramps, and saw that I’d soaked through my underwear with blood. I left them on the bathroom floor and woke Jackson up, and he called Vivian at 3:30am to stay overnight and watch Aveline while we rushed to the hospital to find out that I’d had a miscarriage at four weeks.

We sat in the car after I was sent home with special pads to staunch the blood flow, empty and silent. I had nothing to say, but could tell that he wanted to fill the silence. He didn’t, though.

He waited two weeks, until after I found out I didn’t make partner. It was early July, and I called to tell him the news, crying. I was sitting by the Daley Fountain, not caring who saw my breakdown.

_I didn’t get the position._

_Oh, I’m sorry._

_You don’t care. You never wanted it for me, anyway. What you wanted was that baby._

_And you never wanted it. Now we have neither. Was it worth it?_

_Was_ what _worth it?_

_Fighting for partner put too much stress on you. There’s no other reason you’d lose that baby. It was a healthy pregnancy. That’s the only reason I can think of._

He never stopped blaming me. I had no promotion, no baby. I held the same office and was told that I’d be next in line if the position were to ever open up again, which it wouldn’t for a long time. I knew that, and my boss knew that, too.

At home, we were left with an empty office with paint cans sitting inside of it and a name book, gathering dust, with page-corners folded down.

Things weren’t the same for us after that, but it didn’t stop there. Our next big argument happened over where we’d send Aveline for kindergarten. I wanted to send her to Queen of Angels Elementary School, which is private and Catholic. Tuition was high, but it was nothing we couldn’t handle.

Jackson had no interest in that, though. Instead, he wanted to send her to Oscar Mayer Elementary, which wasn’t private and involved a lottery to get in because there were so many kids on the waiting list. Queen of Angels didn’t involve anything like that, and I wanted a sure spot for her. There was no way I was making our child wait a year for kindergarten and letting her fall behind the rest of her peers.

_I’m not putting my kid through Catholic school for nine damn years!_

_What’s so wrong with that?_

_Catholic schools turn kids out to be psychos. She’ll get ruler-slapped by nuns and think that anything to do with sexuality is wrong. They don’t teach sex-ed there, April, all they teach is abstinence._

_And she should be abstinent, the school goes up until eighth grade. Would you like our daughter to be having sex in middle school?_

_Of course not. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying by a certain age, she needs to learn._

_She’ll learn in high school._

_It won’t be the same._

_I went to Catholic school and I turned out fine, didn’t I?_

_You had no idea what sex was until you met me. Don’t you want an education for Aveline that’s less old world?_

We put her in the lottery for Oscar Mayer and she didn’t get in. There was nothing we could have done, but still Jackson blamed me. He said we should’ve done it sooner, made sure she had a spot the year before. When she was in preschool, we should have enrolled her and registered when it was time for kindergarten.

No matter what I said, no matter what I did, nothing was right anymore. Ever since I lost the baby and lost partner, everything about me was wrong in his eyes.

He stopped putting forth as much of an effort in our marriage and because of this, it was hurting me to do double the work. He had so much resentment for me that he couldn’t see straight, yet would never own up to it.

Aveline had a First Communion ceremony before she started at Queen of Angels. I dressed her in the Communion dress that I’d worn when I was a little girl and made her look and feel so special. When she stood at the church altar and looked out, beaming, at her family that came to witness the ceremony, she saw everyone sitting there but her daddy.

He didn’t come.

He’s done a lot of things wrong. So have I. I can own up to that, but he never has. Maybe now is our God-given second chance to go back and do things over again. As I lie here stroking his head that rests over my heartbeat, I tell myself that that has to be why this happened to us.


	4. Chapter 4

We didn’t mean to get engaged in 2009. 

According to Jackson, it was supposed to happen before midnight on New Year’s Eve 2008. He just took too long with the lead-up, and before we knew it, the ball had already dropped. 

That night, we’d been out with Amelia, Owen, Alex and Jo at the Drake Hotel downtown. I had no idea that it was going to be so special, I thought it was going to be a December 31st like any other I’d had in my life, but everyone else knew. Jackson had told them what he was planning and he kept the ring in his pocket all night, which he later told me proved to be very difficult to hide since I never kept my hands off of him. 

We drank, we danced, we had a good time. I remember feeling so carefree and happy - I had everything I could ever want. A handsome, smart, successful boyfriend, a good job, great friends. At the time, I thought I couldn’t ask for anything more. Until it was dropped in my lap. Figuratively, of course.

As midnight drew closer, Jackson started to act more fidgety and less like himself. I asked him what was wrong time and time again, but all he’d do was smile and brush it off, then go back to acting nervous. I couldn’t figure it out. He’d disappear to the ‘bathroom’ for long stints, so long that I rationally thought that he was sick and trying to hide it in fear of ruining our night. 

_ Baby, are you okay?  _

_ What? Yeah, I-I’m fine. _

_ You seem nervous. Are you feeling alright?  _

_ I’m fine, Monkey. I promise.  _

Then he’d flash me one of those killer smiles and win me over again. I didn’t realize what was up with him until he got down on one knee by the grand staircase and looked up at me - his eyes somehow tentative and confident at the same time. 

Before he could even get any words out, my eyes welled up with tears that started streaming down my face. I pressed my fingers to my cheeks and gasped for breath as I cried, just staring at him down there on the floor, looking up at me. 

He’d smiled - small at first, then it spread out over his entire face, all the way to the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “Did you really think I wasn’t going to marry you?” he’d asked. 

I said the word ‘yes’ so many times that it lost its meaning as I flew into his arms, and he spun me around the high-ceilinged room. Little did we know, the ball had already dropped and we’d missed midnight - we were engaged in 2009. 

I found out that he’d reserved us a room at the very hotel we were celebrating at, and we didn’t waste time going up. I insisted we tell our friends where we were going so they wouldn’t get worried, but Jackson assured me that they were plenty aware. 

We got silly drunk on the champagne bottles that he had delivered to our room, strewn over the fancily-made bed still in our dress clothes, wrapped up in each other. We were so in love and couldn’t help showing it. We had everything, and we were going to be married. 

The sun was nearly rising when, through a fit of giggles, Jackson looked at me next to him under the covers and threw his tie around my neck to pull me closer.

_ Can I tell you a secret? _

He smelled like Dom Perignon and his fingers trailing down my arms were as light as feathers.

_ Tell me.  _

He pressed his chin to his chest and snorted, and I couldn’t help but join in. His laughter was infectious - it still is.

_ Don’t tell, but I’m totally gonna ask you to marry me.  _

I remember cracking up, my head so filled up with fizzy bubbles that it had seemed like the funniest thing in the world. I was the happiest I’d ever been up until that point, it seemed like we had everything laid out for us. There was nothing that could ever go wrong.

We’d woken up together the next morning in a similar fashion to how I wake up today. The blinds are open, which means the sunlight is streaming in, and Jackson is using my right breast as a pillow. It’s not exactly comfortable for me - I’m a little squished - but I can’t bear to move him.

He’s still sleeping so soundly, and I don’t want to wake him. He needs his rest from the accident yesterday. And I’m also worried for how he’ll be when he wakes up - what if he remembers everything, and can’t stand the fact that we’re lying here naked and have been all night? My stomach jumps with nerves as I turn that scenario over in my head, but I force myself to stop. I can’t freak out over what hasn’t happened yet. If he wakes up with his memory, that’s a good thing. It makes our current state of affairs a bit more complicated, but I’ll handle it. 

Thirty or so minutes later, the first thing he does when he opens his eyes is smile and kiss my bare breast, then reach over to softly squeeze the other one. “Morning,” he rasps. 

“Hi,” I say, running my palm over his closely-cropped hair. “Did you sleep well?” 

“Of course I did,” he says, trailing his hand lower to rub my stomach. I close my eyes and take a deep breath in, forgetting how much I used to love when he did that. 

He kisses the side of my breast again, tightening his arm on my waist as his lips find new skin to pay attention to. 

“Did you?” he asks. 

I nod, dragging my fingertips over the back of his neck. “You kept me warm,” I say. 

“Oh, yeah,” he says. “You didn’t get up and put pajamas on.” 

In the middle of the night, after we used to fall asleep naked, I’d sometimes wake up and be cold so I’d have to dig through my dresser drawers in the pitch blackness to find my pajamas. But not last night. All night, I slept naked, wrapped up in him. 

“Didn’t need to,” I say, smiling up at him as his face hovers above mine. I run my thumb over his beard and say, “You need a shave.” 

He never did it yesterday morning, and now it’s even worse. 

“Don’t pretend like you don’t like it,” he says, lowering his face to my neck. 

“You’re scratchy!” I say, pushing him away by the shoulders. “I like you when you’re smooth.” 

“I don’t bother you when you don’t shave,” he notes. “When your legs are all pokey on me.” 

I roll my eyes and smack his chest playfully. “That’s totally different.” 

He smirks. “Oh, because you always get your way? That’s how it’s different?” 

“Exactly,” I say, and kiss him. I mean to pull away and make it quick, but he holds on and lingers with one hand on my jaw. 

When he pulls away, his eyes are boring deeply into mine. “Good morning,” he says. 

I smile softly in response, trailing my hands over his facial hair and lower, over his neck and the slopes of his shoulders.

“How’s your head?” I ask.

“Feels fine,” he says. “Doesn’t hurt.”

“Any luck with remembering anything?” I ask. 

He thinks for a second, then shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “But maybe you could help stimulate my muscle memory and… things will start to come back.” 

I chuckle and roll my eyes, as he finds himself incredibly amusing.

“You have to admit,” he says. “It’s a valid thought.” 

He bends to kiss me, and I can’t deny that I want him. I want him so bad - I want to make up for the year that we’ve been having passionless sex in the middle of the night with heated, slow, intimate sex this morning. With the light shining in and the covers bunched around the foot of the bed, I want him on top of and inside me.

I shouldn’t, though. I know I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be acting like the past year didn’t happen just because he doesn’t remember it. I know that’s not right. Logically, I know that. But the way his lips and tongue feel on my body puts my mind in another state entirely - one where I can’t think straight and my rationale is located between my legs instead of inside my skull.

“You can be as loud as you want…” he murmurs, marking a path down my body. When I crane my neck to look at him, I see he’s sucking skin between his teeth and leaving small red marks behind, but I don’t tell him to stop. There was a time when I would tell him not to mark me, but that time is not right now. Right now, I like it. Right now, it makes me feel like I’m his again. 

He rubs his palms roughly over my hip bones, which makes me squirm. His hands are so strong and capable, and everything about him is so attractive. I wet my bottom lip and pull it into my mouth, then kick what’s left of the sheet off of my ankles and gently push him by his shoulders to lie down. 

He chuckles. “What are you up to?” he asks.

“You gave me so much last night,” I say, swinging one leg over his hips to straddle him. “Now I’m gonna give it back.” 

“I’m not gonna say no to that,” he says, bending his arms at the elbows so he can use his hands as a pillow. 

It doesn’t take much to get him hard - he was already halfway there before I even touched him, thanks to the time of day. I get settled between his legs with my knees under me and take as much of him as I can in my mouth, keeping a light grip on the base as the tip touches the back of my throat. 

A shuddering breath escapes him and I smile because of it. The last time I gave him head was… again, I can’t remember. We haven’t done anything outside of emergency sex in too long. I’ve missed the sounds he makes, his bodily reactions, the way I can make him feel. 

As I center my attention on the tip, swirling my tongue around and under it, his hand finds its way to the back of my head to push me down slightly. I plant my free hand on his thigh and squeeze, then dip it between his legs to massage his balls - I know just what to do to him. There are certain things you just don’t forget about a person. 

“Fuck,” he breathes as I hollow out my cheeks and suck harder. He takes a handful of my hair as his hips buck, and I concentrate on the most sensitive area until his body goes tense and he holds his breath, then I know he’s close. 

“Come for me, baby,” I murmur, lips moving against the tip while I pump my hand. “I want it… I want you to.” 

His eyes roll back in his head before he shuts them, and I keep my mouth where it is as he shoots off, then swallow. 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” he curses, unburying his hand from my hair so he can throw his arms over his head. “Goddamn.” He lies there for a second, just panting, until he uncovers his face and looks at me. “Get up here, baby girl,” he growls mischievously. 

I lie on top of him, covering his body with my own, as he runs his fingernails down my back and kisses me. “You’re the fuckin’ queen of giving head,” he says, running his mouth sloppily over my lips and chin. “God, that felt so good.” 

I sit up and he anchors his hands on my hips, thumbs pressing against the points of the bones. “I’m glad,” I say, leaning forward slightly with my hands braced on his chest. I rock my hips gently, but know that he needs a few minutes for his erection to come back. 

“We should talk about our honeymoon,” he says, hands playing over my stomach. “Derek said bringing up memories that I still have can help me remember things I don’t have.” 

I chuckle. “Don’t say Derek’s name while I’m naked on top of you,” I mutter. 

He laughs. “Noted.” 

“I remember we played 20 Questions in our hotel room,” I say. “That view was beautiful. The ocean was so clear.” 

He snorts. “Don’t play innocent,” he says. “That was no regular game of 20 Questions, Monkey. That was what I like to call ‘Strip 20 Questions’ and you got pretty naughty, if I remember correctly.” 

I blush red. I think all the blood in my body must rush to my cheeks. 

“That’s when you finally broke and told me your sexual fantasy…” He closes his eyes. “Mmm.” 

I take his wrists and pin them to his sides as he looks at me slyly. “You have memory loss,” I tell him. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

He works his way out of my grip. “Oh, yes I do,” he says. “There’s nothing wrong with my long term memory.” 

“I’ll be the judge of that,” I say, and open my mouth on his. I feel him smile against my lips and make a small affirmative sound, moving his hands around to the small of my back to run his thumbs over the dimples there. 

“Remember when…” he begins. “We ordered all that ice cream from room service with the toppings and stuff on the side?” 

I smirk and sigh. 

“Not a single bit went on the actual ice cream,” he continues. “And all of it melted before we could eat it.” 

“We were too concentrated on other things,” I say, and his hands flatten on my thighs. 

“Yeah, like licking it off each other,” he says. “God, the way that chocolate syrup tasted on your-” 

“Jackson,” I say, eyes wide. 

“What?” he chuckles. “You’re my wife, we’re alone… I’m allowed to talk about the dirty stuff we did.” 

“We were different people back then,” I say. It doesn’t get past me that I’m the only one between us who knows how true that statement really is. 

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t go for that stuff now, too,” he says, sliding his hands up to grip my ribcage. “I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.” 

Looking down at him, his body nestled comfortably under mine, I know that he’s right. I would do it all again - the dating, the engagement, the marriage, the honeymoon, the hot, exciting sex - there’s just a few things I would go back and change. 

“So would I,” I say, letting myself agree with him. 

He looks satisfied, pleased with himself. “Would you even slip your underwear in my pocket at the restaurant?” 

I drop my chin to hit my chest and mutter, “I was reading a lot of Cosmo.” I lift my eyes to look into his, then lean forward so our noses almost touch. “I wanted to make you happy so bad,” I whisper. 

“You did,” he says, sliding his hands around to grab my ass. “You still do. Every day.” 

My heart twists and my chest feels heavy. A sick feeling sits in my gut and won’t go away. 

I ignore it and kiss him, though, framing his jaw in my hands and angling my head to the side. When we break apart, I dismount his torso and lower onto my elbows and knees, back arched so my ass is in the air. “Stand up,” I say, gesturing with my head. 

Jackson doesn’t hesitate. He gets out of bed and stands behind me, fingers gripping the creases at the tops of either of my thighs, and I feel him press a path of kisses in a horizontal line across the small of my back. 

When he buries himself inside me, his grip on my hips tightens and I scoot involuntarily forward a bit on the bed, letting my forehead drop to the mattress. Our bodies find a familiar rhythm, and after a few minutes he wraps an arm around the front of my pelvis to yank me closer. 

“Mm, just like that,” I moan, fingers clenching the sheet below me. 

He smacks the side of my thigh, and I inhale with a short, high-pitched gasp and release it with a contented sigh. He knows what I like and when to give it to me. He pumps his hips forcefully as I try to catch my breath from how he makes me feel, and after a while my arms start to shake with exertion. 

“Jackson,” I breathe, and he reads my mind. 

“I got you,” he says, pulling out and running a hand up my spine on his way back to the bed. He sits resting against the headboard and reaches out for me, roughly grabbing at my back as I lower down onto him again. 

I rest my arms straight over the headboard and Jackson buries his face in my chest, sucking my nipples into his mouth as I grind my hips atop his. As I lose my breath, I feel his hands on my face and his thumbs stroke the corners of my jaw as he says, “I love you.” 

I smile with a sigh. “I love you,” I say, mirroring the sentiment. “And I also wanna come, and I need you to help me.” 

He laughs and sneaks his hand between our bodies, pushing his fingers inside me and tweaking the nerves that are throbbing and begging to be touched. When my orgasm ripples through me, it happens slow - giving me enough time to press the front of my body against his and feel his arms tighten around my back, holding me as close as possible. I press a few errant, sloppy kisses to the side of his neck and feel his pulse beating like mad. 

After, we’re lying next to each other on our sides, coming down, and Jackson is running his fingernails from my ribcage all the way down to the swell of my hip. “You know what, Monkey?” he says softly. 

“What,” I say, opening my eyes. They’d been threatening to drift closed again, but his voice woke me back up. 

“I could forget everything. Everything I’ve ever known, and still remember you.” 

My eyes burn, so I close them again. I can’t handle when he says stuff like that, because I know how much he means it. He doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean. At least, not most of the time. 

I pull myself close with my hands on his neck and kiss him, pressing my lips hard against his. I sling one arm over his side and tuck my head under his chin, and he rubs my back. 

We fall back to sleep for a little while, and I wake up again before he does. It’s almost noon, and though I don’t think any of us are ready for Aveline to be added back into the equation, I know I have to clear things up for her. More than I’d be able to do over the phone. 

So I get up, shower, and get dressed. Jackson wakes up just as I’m running a brush through my wet hair and slipping my feet into my tennis shoes. 

“Where’re you going?” he asks sleepily, turning his head to look at me. 

“Over to Owen and Amelia’s,” I say, looking around for my purse. 

“To get Avi?” he says. 

“Well…” I say, then pause. “I don’t think so, no.” I run my hand through my wet hair and fluff it up. “I don’t know if you’re ready for that yet, or if she is, for that matter. I’m gonna go explain things to her, and tell Owen and Amy, too.” I look at him pointedly, eyes wide. “Derek said not to rush anything. I want you to feel comfortable at home for a little while before Avi comes back.” 

He doesn’t look completely settled with what I’ve said. “Okay,” he says unsurely.

“You understand, right?” I ask. I find my purse and throw it on over my shoulder. 

“I guess,” he says. “I just…” he laughs uncomfortably. “I miss my kid. I wanna see her.” 

“You will,” I say, taking a few steps closer. “Tomorrow. You just need time to adjust. And she will, too.” 

He nods slowly, and I kiss the top of his head. 

“Will you be alright while I’m gone?” I ask. “There’s leftover pizza that’s not too old, if you want to heat that up. Or there are takeout numbers-”

“Under the Sears Tower magnet on the side of the fridge, I know that,” he says, offering me a smile.

I shoot him one back. 

“Hasn’t changed,” I say, and run my hand over his head one last time. “I won’t be long. Call if you need anything, okay? Don’t hesitate.” 

“Okay, worrywart,” he says, shooing me. “I’ll be fine.” 

As I’m in the car heading to the South Loop, I can’t stop worrying about Jackson. I don’t know if I should’ve left him home alone, but I didn’t want him to feel like I was coddling him. I don’t know what he’ll do while I’m gone, though. He might get too confident and try to do something he’s not ready for, though I have no idea what that would be. I don’t think he’d leave the house, but I don’t know what I should and shouldn’t put past him. 

I tell myself that I’ll just have to make this visit quick. 

I parallel park quickly in front of their building and lock up the car, ringing the buzzer while standing in the pleasant spring wind. 

“Hello?” Amelia’s voice rings through the speaker, a little crackly, but there.

“Hey, Amy,” I say. “It’s April. Can you buzz me up?” 

The door makes a loud sound and the lock clicks, and I ride the elevator up to her apartment. As soon as the door comes open, a small body flies into my arms and shrieks right into my ear. 

“Mommy!” Aveline screams, and I lift her up off the ground and swing her legs around. 

“Hi, baby bird!” I say enthusiastically, and kiss her on the cheek. “Hi, princess.” 

Amelia saunters up a few beats later, smiling. “Hey,” she says. “How’re you?” 

I keep Aveline in my arms until she wriggles to be put down. “Me and Uncle Owen were watching Ever After High. Come watch with us, mama!” she says, tugging on my wrist. 

“In a second, sweetie,” I say. “I’m gonna talk to Auntie Amy for a second first. Be right there.” 

She scampers off, into the living room which isn’t visible from the front entryway. 

“How is he?” Amelia asks, leading the way into the kitchen. “You want something to drink?”

“If you have tea, that’d be good,” I say.

“Iced,” she says. “Peach?” 

“That’s good,” I say, and take the cup when she hands it to me. “And he’s…” I let out a long, loud sigh. “I mean, he’s fine right now. He’s…  _ fine _ . But…” 

She furrows her eyebrows. “But what?” 

I decide just to come out and say it, point blank. “He has amnesia,” I say. 

Her eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. “Wait… what?” 

“Yeah,” I say, stepping up to sit on a high barstool at their breakfast counter. “Retrograde. So he has no problem forming new memories, but the past…” 

“Wait,” she says. “Slow down. You’re telling me he didn’t remember you? He doesn’t remember his life?” 

“No, no,” I say, shaking my hand. “No. Just the past year. It’s blank. When he woke up, he thought it was my birthday.” 

“Well, that wasn’t that long-” 

“My 32nd birthday,” I clarify. “He thought the surprise party had just happened. They did tests on him and confirmed it… your brother did them, actually.” 

She snorts. 

I rub my temples. “And since he can’t remember the last year, that means he can’t remember… you know, everything we’ve gone through.” 

It would be impossible for our friends not to realize that our relationship has been going through a rough patch. Amelia knows the most out of anyone, but still she doesn’t know all the details. She doesn’t know that the topic of divorce was brought up, but she knows that we’ve been fighting. She doesn’t know about the miscarriage and the consequential blame that followed, but she knows about the fight we had over schools for Aveline. I don’t like all of our business aired out like dirty laundry, but I’d go crazy without someone to talk to. 

“So he…” She looks at me, shocked. “He thinks everything is like it was a year ago.” 

I nod solemnly. 

“Oh, April,” she says. “What are you gonna do?” 

I plunk my chin in my palms, leaning forward. “Right now, I don’t know,” I say. “Derek said not to overload him with information, but imagine how he’ll feel. Imagine thinking everything was great in your marriage, not being able to remember anything bad, then one day your wife who you thought loved you tells you that you guys were going to get a divorce and things have been different for the past year and you can’t agree on anything anymore. The only sex you’re having is quiet and weird and in the middle of the night, it’s so odd it’s like sleeping with a stranger with a wall in between you. You fight about everything, especially about your kid, and you put up a fake front for your friends and fam-” 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Amelia says. “Breathe.” She takes a second, too, probably combing through what I’ve just said. “Divorce?” she finally says. 

I nod, raising my eyebrows with a defeated expression on my face. “It was on the table,” I say. “Right before the accident.” 

She sucks in air through her teeth. “Goddamn,” she says. 

“I know.” I say, taking a sip of my tea. “I can’t tell him. I don’t even know where I’d begin. Amy, it’s…” I sigh and close my eyes. “Right now, it’s like it  _ was _ , you know? Before it all…” I roll my eyes slightly. “Before it all went to shit. Before I lost…” I shake my head and consider if I should finish that sentence. I decide not to. “Before the fights and the silence and the weird sex and sleeping in separate rooms.” 

She’s quiet for a long time, staring down at her hands as they rest on the counter. When she looks back up at me, she says, “I think you need to tell him.” 

“I-”

“Not all at once,” she continues. “But slowly. Yeah, imagining being in his shoes is hard. Finding out is gonna suck. But imagine not knowing. Being in the dark and not even realizing it.” She gives me a pointed look. “I think that’s worse.”

I know she’s right and I know what I have to do. But it’s not going to be easy. 

And I don’t think I’m ready for this stage to be over with yet.

“Can Avi stay here one more night?” I ask. Amy nods. “Okay,” I say. “I’m gonna tell her why, though. You know, what she can handle. I think I should explain it to her, at least a little bit.” 

I walk into the living room, where Owen and Aveline are sitting on opposite ends of the couch, watching some brightly-colored cartoon on TV. 

“Avi,” I say. “Come to the kitchen. Mommy needs to talk to you for a second.” 

She glances over at me, then back to the TV. “Mommy…” she whines softly, her attention elsewhere.

“Aveline,” I say. “Come on. It’s important.”

Owen grabs the remote and pauses the show, which makes Aveline huff with annoyance as she gets off the couch. She trudges over and follows me into the kitchen, where she stands next to the dining room table as I sit down in a chair across from her. 

“I need to talk to you about something important,” I say, meeting her green eyes. “It’s about Daddy.” 

She nods, changing up which foot she stands on. 

“He was in an accident yesterday,” I say. “That’s why you had to come stay here. He was riding his bike on a busy road and he crashed it and bumped his head pretty bad.” 

“Was he wearing his helmet?” she asked, voice rising in pitch. 

I smile softly and tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Yes,” I say. “Yes, thank goodness he was. He bumped his head, but he’s okay. He’s not even at the hospital anymore, he’s at home with me. But his brain is kind of jumbled up, okay? He’s having a hard time remembering things.” 

“Does he remember you?” she asks. 

I nod my head yes. 

“Does he remember me?” 

“Yes,” I say. “He remembers you. We were talking about you, and he remembers you. He just needs a little bit more time to feel comfortable, though. So you’re gonna stay here with Uncle Owen and Auntie Amelia for one more night. And I’ll come pick you up sometime tomorrow. Okay?” I look at her expectantly. “You understand?” 

“Daddy’s sick and he needs time to get better,” she says, clasping her hands at her waist. “So I can stay here and watch TV and have treats until tomorrow!” 

I laugh to myself, but accept her childlike explanation. “Don’t have too many,” I say, hugging her and kissing her head before standing up. “I just wanted to stop by and tell you that in person.” 

“Okay, mommy,” she says, edging her way back to the living room.

“Go ahead,” I say, waving her back out there. “Have fun. I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

I meet Amelia back in the kitchen, where she’s loading the dishwasher. “She take it okay?” she asks. 

I nod. “She’s fine,” I say. “I… I should get going. I don’t really feel good that I left him alone, and…” 

“Of course,” she says. “Go. Let me know if you need anything, okay? Anything.” 

I smile at her. “I will,” I say. “And thank you, again. For taking Avi, and-” 

She shakes her head, eyebrows knitting together. “No need to thank us,” she says. “You go do what you need to do. We’ll be here.” 

I give her a hug and get back on the road, hurrying home to Jackson and thinking about what we’ll have for lunch when I get there, if he hasn’t already eaten. I hope he hasn’t burnt the place down trying to microwave the pizza, not because his brain is messed up, but because that’s just him. 

When I walk in the door and put my keys on the hook, I call out, “I’m home!” but get no response. I walk further inside, kick off my tennis shoes, and look around curiously. “Jackson?” I say. “Hello? I’m back.” 

I hear footsteps coming from the hallway, then see him round the corner with a confused, surly look on his face. It’s a look I’ve grown to be very familiar with, but it makes a heavy stone sink in my gut. That’s been the most common facial expression for the past year, and I’d enjoyed so much not seeing it for the past 24 hours. 

His memory is back. It has to be. He just came from the guest room - I’d heard the door shut - and it must have jogged his memory. 

And now we’re going to fight. 

“Everything okay?” I ask, my voice tentative as I set my purse down on a chair.

Creases appear on his forehead as he stares at the floor, thinking hard about something. “I… wanted to put on my White Sox shirt,” he says. “I was looking for it. Couldn’t find it in our closet. I don’t know why I wanted it, I just really did.” He pauses. “I don’t know what made me look in the guest room, but I went in there, and…” He looks up at me, and I notice that he’s wearing the shirt - black fabric with white lettering. “Why’s all my stuff in there?” 

Relief floods through my body. He doesn’t remember, and I have more of a chance to figure out how to tell him all of this on my own terms. 

I open my mouth to respond, but find myself not knowing what to say. Now, his face has cleared of the frustration and is open with wonder - he’s genuinely curious as to why all of his things would be sequestered into a smallish room without a good window and barely any closet space. 

“I…” I say, mouth dry. 

_ Tell him, tell him, tell him. Tell him everything. You know you should, you know you’ll have to eventually.  _

“We fought about something the other day,” I say, wetting my lips. “Got pissed at each other. So you slept in there to cool off.” 

_ A mistake. You are making a huge mistake. You’re digging yourself into a deeper hole. _

But I tell myself that now isn’t the right time. He’s not in the right frame of mind, and he wouldn’t take it well. I want to break the news when he’s calm and ready to receive it, not bombard him with it first thing after I walk in the door. 

“Oh,” he says, looking a little surprised. “What’d we fight about?” 

I shake my head, trying desperately to think of something to fill the silence where my answer should sit. “I don’t even remember now,” I say. “It was that stupid.” 

He chuckles and shakes his head, taking a few steps closer so he stands across from me. He kisses my forehead and rests his hands on my shoulders, and I sigh against him. 

“You alright?” he asks. 

I feel like I might throw up.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m great.” 

He looks at me unsurely, trying to decipher what’s in my eyes. “You sure?” he asks. “You don’t seem like it. Was Avi okay?” 

I nod, grateful to change the subject. “Yeah,” I say. “She was fine with staying one more night. And they were fine with keeping her.” 

“How’d she take the news?”

I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know if she understands fully,” I say. “But she’s a smart baby. She knows your brain is sick and it needs time to get better.” 

He smiles and kisses my forehead again, giving me a tight hug after. “I was thinking, while you were gone,” he says. “Speaking of babies. You said it wasn’t the right time last night. Did you mean not the right time to talk about it, or not the right time to keep trying?” 

I take in a deep breath and stay in his arms, mostly so he won’t see my face. “I don’t know, Jackson.” 

“You don’t know what you meant?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think it’s the best time to be thinking about it,” I say, then pull away to look at his face. “You have amnesia. We don’t know how long it’ll take for you to get better. We can’t be thinking about another baby right now.” 

He looks at me for a long time, and my stomach is twisting so violently that I worry for whatever’s inside it. It might make a second appearance all over Jackson’s socks. I feel sick for lying to him like this, absolutely sick, but I feel like I can’t turn back now. 

I have to figure out a way, though. 

***

The next afternoon, Jackson feels ready for Aveline to come back. When she comes through the door with Amelia at her side, she trots in and spins in a circle, happy to be home. I thank Amelia again and she leaves, telling me that if I need anything else, she and Owen are here.

“Hey, baby,” I say, one hand on the top of Aveline’s head. I nod in Jackson’s direction. “Daddy’s right over there. Go say hi.”

“Daddy!” Aveline cheers, bounding towards her father. I watch his eyes as he sees her at six for what must feel like the first time. 

He gives her a big hug and a kiss, and she squirms to be let out of his arms. 

“Daddy,” she says, stomping her light-up shoes like always. “Can we do bikes?” 

He gives her a confused look. “Bikes, honey?” 

“Bikes!” she says, jumping up and down. “I want to go back out and do bikes at the big park by the lake.” 

He smiles awkwardly and shakes his head. “I’m not sure what you mean, baby bird.” 

She gets frustrated and looks at me. “Mommy, he’s tricking me!” She huffs and continues before I have a chance to get a word in edgewise. “We did bikes after I was done at my school. Vivi picked me up from my Queen of Angels and we came home and read Junie B., then you came home and said Vivi could leave because you wanted to teach me my bike!” 

Jackson furrows his eyebrows and blinks hard, backing up from his daughter. He doesn’t say anything, but something is upsetting him. 

“Avi, sweetie,” I say, pulling her back by her shoulders. “Give Daddy some space. Remember, I told you? His brain is having some trouble and he can’t remember things all that good right now. So we don’t want to shout at him, okay? We don’t-” 

“Queen of Angels,” Jackson mutters, and I look up after hearing his voice. He’s staring at the floor, heavily concentrated with his tongue sticking out a little bit. “She said Queen of Angels?” 

“That’s my school!” Aveline insists, loud as usual. 

Jackson sighs, then lifts one hand to press against his forehead. “Queen of Angels,” he repeats. “That’s…” He narrows his eyes. “I remember that.” 

My stomach jumps, and not in a good way. 

He finally lifts his eyes to meet mine, and I see something in them that I haven’t seen yet. Recollection. “We… did we have a fight about that?” he asks, sounding unsure. 

I grip Aveline’s shoulders tighter and she jolts them out from my grasp. 

I stand there silent; stunned. I don’t know how to answer. 


	5. Chapter 5

“A fight about Queen of Angels?” Jackson continues, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Aveline’s attention shifts between the two of us, silently watching. I hate the feeling of her eyes on me, wondering if this will escalate. She’s so used to it escalating. 

“That sounds so familiar to me,” he says. “We had a fight about that, didn’t we?” 

My mouth goes dry and I chew on the inside of my cheek, staring at him and trying to gauge his facial expressions. He looks a little confused, but there’s recognition in his eyes, too.

“We, uh…” I say, resting the small of my back against the counter. “We did have a disagreement about it, yeah.” I clear my throat. “Last July or August. You… you remember that?” 

He nods slowly, looking at me with narrowed eyes. “I remember that,” he says. 

I don’t know what to say, or where to start. “Oh,” I say, blinking and looking off to the side. I know we can’t have this conversation with Aveline in the room, and he seems to know that, too. “Is that… what else can you remember?” 

He shakes his head and turns on his heel, heading towards the guest room slowly. “Jackson,” I call after him. “I’m making dinner. Don’t… don’t, you don’t have to go away.” 

“I need some time to think,” he says, without turning around. “My head… I can’t be out here right now.” 

I let a small puff of air from my nose as I watch him shut the door, then glance over at Aveline who’s chewing on her thumbnail with wide, green eyes. “Mama?” she peeps. 

“Yeah, baby,” I say, walking behind the counter and kneeling down to the cabinet where the pots and pans are so I can get one out. 

“Is Daddy okay?” she asks, her voice soft and unsure. 

I stand up to my full height and put on a happy face for my daughter. “He’s fine, sweetie,” I say, pulling out a pot and filling it up with water. “How does mac and cheese sound for dinner, huh?” 

A smile lights up her whole face as she agrees, seeing it as a treat instead of a normal, thought-out meal I’d usually make. Instead, she gets excited over something from a box. To her, this is special. If it makes her forget about that moment Jackson and I just shared, I don’t care. I’ll make it. It’s worth it. 

“How were your sleepovers at Uncle Owen and Auntie Amy’s?” I ask Aveline, sitting next to her with a bowl of mac and cheese in front of me. She has one, too. It didn’t take long to make. 

“Good,” she says, swinging her legs as she eats. “I love it over there. Do you know what Auntie Amy said?” 

I raise my eyebrows. “What’d she say?” 

“That she spoils me,” Aveline says, crinkling her nose in a way that Jackson used to say reminded him of me. 

I laugh softly. “She definitely does,” I say. 

“Daddy used to say that, too,” she says. “When we went and got ice cream after school and didn’t tell you!” She giggles to herself, shrieking with happiness and covering her mouth with her little hands. I notice that her nails are a shellshock pink - Amelia must have painted them. 

“Oh, he did, did he?” I ask, smirking. 

“Yeah,” she says, taking a big bite of her noodles. “But he doesn’t really say it that much anymore.” 

I look down into my bowl and push around the cheese sauce, releasing a quiet sigh as Aveline grows silent, too.

“I think maybe Daddy didn’t remember me,” she says, breaking the silence after a while. 

I look up with a concerned expression on my face. “What do you mean?” I ask. 

She shrugs one shoulder. 

“Daddy remembers you, baby,” I say. “His memory is coming back. He remembers you.” 

“He didn’t remember when we rided bikes,” she says quietly. “And he didn’t give me a kiss. He always gives me a kiss. And so I think this is somebody pretending to be my daddy, because Daddy would never forget that he always gives me a kiss.” 

I sigh again, resting my cheek on my closed fist. “This is your Daddy, honey,” I say. “He just hit his head, and he’s not himself right now. We have to give him time to get better.”

I’m sure, right now, he’s working on the road back to the Jackson from a couple days ago. I don’t want him to, though, not yet. I’ve been enjoying the old Jackson far too much. 

It starts to storm suddenly, the rain pounding hard against the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room. As I’m putting away our dishes, Aveline and I both jump with the first clap of thunder. She’s not afraid of storms and neither am I, but it was so loud that it almost felt like our windows rattled. 

Lightning flashes across the sky and makes the city look like daytime for a split second, and Aveline gasps as she runs to the window. I follow her a bit slower, and watch as she presses her miniature palms against the glass, enraptured by the show playing in front of her. 

We watch the storm ravage downtown for a long time, not saying anything. 

Finally, I ask, “Does it scare you?” 

She looks over at me, half of her face lit up with a stroke of lightning. In the half-light, she’s never looked more like her father. “No,” she says, shaking her head slightly. 

I look back out the window, watching a lightning bolt hit the rod at the top of the Sears Tower in the West Loop. “How come?” I ask, letting my eyes roam to the lake that’s twisting and curling from the wind. “It’d loud and scary. And violent.” 

She furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head again, more confidently this time. “It’s good for the world,” she says, eyes lifting up towards the dark, swarthy sky. “It makes everything grow.” 

I put Aveline to bed as the rain still pours, kneeling at her bedside and finger-combing her hair away from her temples. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, baby bird,” I say, stroking her soft cheek. 

She shakes her head, looking adamant. “Nuh-uh. It’s a school day. Vivi is coming. You have to go to work.” 

I disagree softly. “Nope, I’m gonna be home for a little bit,” I say. “Taking care of Daddy. My work can wait.” 

She looks confused. “You’re gonna take care of Daddy?”

I nod and smile a little. “Why, is that weird to you?” I ask. 

She shrugs. “I didn’t know girls could take care of boys.”

I press a deliberate kiss to her forehead. “Girls can do anything they want,” I say. “I mean that.” 

“Do you want to take care of Daddy?” 

I’m amused by her questions, and I’m sure my face shows it. “Yeah, I do,” I say. 

“Why?” she asks. “He yells.” 

Her words don’t sit right with me, but I try not to let that show on my face. “Because I love him,” I say. “He’s my husband, he’s your daddy, and that means I’ll always love him. No matter what.” I ghost my lips over her cheek and she leans into me instead of away, like she’s been doing lately. “That’s called unconditional love.” 

She screws her eyebrows up when I pull back to look at her face. “Unconditional?” she repeats, never having heard the word before.

“I love you and your daddy unconditionally,” I say. “It’s the most you could ever love someone.”

She sighs, holding her covers in her hands. “Even when you fight, you still love him?” 

I nod. “I’m sorry we’ve been fighting so much lately, Avi,” I say. “I really am. I don’t want that to scare you, I…” I pause, not wanting to promise her anything that might not come true once he regains his whole memory. “Your Daddy is very important to me. I’ve loved him for a long time. And most of the time, you fight with the people you love the most, even though that’s pretty silly.” 

She smiles a little. “That is silly,” she says. 

“I’m gonna try not to fight as much,” I say. “And he is, too.” I know I’m putting words in his mouth, he has no idea what I’m promising her, but it’s so hard not to give her this comfort as she lies here tucked in, expectant, vulnerable and trusting. Right here in her soft bed, she’s my little baby bird that I need to protect from the world. 

“Maybe you could do a ‘bug and a wish,’” she says, her eyelids growing heavy. 

I tip my head to one side. “A bug and a wish?” I echo. 

She nods. “It’s what we do at school. You go like this. It bugs me when you do that, I wish you would stop.” She blinks at me, satisfied. “And it works. It’s so no one fights or beats each other up.” 

I laugh softly and kiss her one last time. “Maybe we’ll have to try that,” I say. “Goodnight, sweet baby bird.” 

I stand in the doorway and let my eyes linger on her for a second before flicking off the light, then shut her door on my way out. I go into the kitchen, clean up our measly dinner, and pause in front of the black-screened TV. The house is silent except for the soft sound of a different television - the one coming from the guest room. 

I know I need to talk to him, I just don’t want to. I’m afraid of the outcome; I don’t want a big fight. But I know if I go to bed without doing it, I’ll just keep putting it off. This has to get solved sometime, and sooner is better than later. Even if it’s not as easy. 

So I hover in front of the closed door with my knuckles poised to knock, taking deep breaths. There’s a pit of dread in my stomach not because I’m afraid of how he’ll react, but because I’m afraid of losing what we had for a fleeting 36 hours. Maybe not even that long. 

“Jackson?” I say softly, finally knocking. “Can we talk?” 

The sound from the TV goes silent and I hear some rustling around before the door handle turns and he appears in front of me. 

“Hey,” he says, looking down to the floor then back up at me. 

“We should talk,” I say again. 

“Yeah…” he says. “We should.” 

“In there, or...the living room, or…?” I ask. 

He takes a few steps out of the room and closes it up. “Doesn’t matter to me,” he says, inhaling deeply.

I sigh. “Our room’s farthest from Avi’s,” I say. “If we-”

“I don’t wanna fight,” he says. “If that’s what you’re thinking.” 

I stare at him for a second, floored by what his words. “Oh… I…” I touch my forehead. “I don’t, either.” 

He sits down on the arm of the couch and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, eyes focused on the carpet. “It’s there in bits and pieces,” he says. “That’s why I’m frustrated. It’s right there, and… and I can’t grab it.” He looks up. “And you didn’t tell me before now?” 

My palms start to sweat with nerves. “I… it happened almost a year ago,” I say. “I didn’t think it was worth bringing… you’d just gotten back from the hospital. Derek said not to overwhelm you.” 

He looks at me seriously. “So give it to me now. What was the fight about? Queen of Angels, what? I remember I didn’t want her there. You must have liked it, so she goes there now.” He opens and closes his fists. “Did my opinion just not count, or...what?” 

“No, no,” I say, wrinkling my forehead and walking closer to him. “That’s not it at all. We had… a disagreement on whether or not she should go to Queen of Angels, yeah. Because it’s private and Catholic, and you didn’t like that.” 

He makes a displeased face, obvious that he still doesn’t like it. 

“You wanted her to go to Oscar Mayer, in Lincoln Park. It’s on Clifton and Webster, close to DePaul’s campus. You wanted her there, but we had this fight in late July. The only way to get your kid in that late is to enter them in a lottery. So we compromised and said that we’d enter her in that and just see if it worked. Well, it didn’t… we don’t live in the neighborhood and it’s a lot easier for neighborhood kids to get in, and she didn’t.” 

He nods. “Obviously,” he says. 

“Yeah. So we enrolled her in Queen of Angels,” I say. “She loves it.” 

“I’m sure our bank account doesn’t love it,” he says.

“Oh, Jackson, we can afford it,” I snap. “You’re a doctor, I’m a lawyer. Please.” 

He doesn’t have anything to say in response to that, he knows I’m right. 

“We should’ve enrolled her in Oscar Mayer sooner,” he says. “Why didn’t we?” 

I shrug. “I guess we didn’t think of it. We’re busy people, it wasn’t in the forefront of our minds.” 

“Our  _ kid _ wasn’t on the forefront of our minds?” he asks, looking troubled. “We’re seriously so busy with our big, important careers that her education doesn’t take the front seat?” 

I shake my head. “No, stop,” I say. “She’s getting a great education where she’s at right now. Queen of Angels is a highly-rated school. You refused to look because you’re so dead-set on being against it, but it is.” 

His jaw tightens. “I don’t like that she’s going to a religious school,” he says. “I told you when we got married that I’m not the church-on-Sunday type of guy. I told you that you couldn’t expect me to change, I told you that we’d raise our kids-” 

“And I told you that you couldn’t expect  _ me _ to change,” I say.

“So where does that put us?” he says, standing up now. 

I look at him, a little breathless. “We butt heads a lot,” I say. “Over things about her. Over things about our jobs, over a lot of things. But…” I throw my hands up and they fall down to slap against my thighs. “I love you. Nothing’s gonna change that, right? I’m still so in love with you that it’s silly. Sometimes, I look at you sitting on that couch and think how lucky I am that you’re my husband. If I saw you in that bar today, I’d go up and do the exact same thing I did nine years ago.” I let out an incredulous-sounding little laugh. “So I keep working through our shit because we’re married. And that’s what married people do.” 

He studies me, and I’m not sure what he’s thinking. I don’t like not knowing, because it’s usually one of my talents to read his thoughts. 

“When I woke up in that hospital bed and saw you there, you know what I felt?” he asks. 

I shake my head. 

“Relief,” he says. “I had no idea what the fuck was going on, but you were there. Like always, you were right there. And I was so happy to see you. Because you’re the one, April, you know you’re my one. You’re my wife and that means so much to me, I take that so seriously, but…” He screws his eyes shut tight. “I can’t  _ remember _ this past year and it’s killing me. Why were we fighting? That doesn’t seem like us. I love you, I don’t want to fight with you. I can’t picture myself wanting to fight with you.” He sits back down on the arm of the couch and pulls me closer to stand between his knees, his hands on my hips. “I can see disagreements. But I can’t see fights. You’re my best friend, April. My favorite person.” He leans his head forward and rests it on my stomach, and I run my hand over his hair. “This is all just so confusing.” 

I’ve never felt more guilty in my life. I know I need to tell him - tell him everything, for real. But I really don’t think he can handle it. His first occupational therapy session is on Wednesday, and I think if we can make it that far, then I should work with the therapist on telling him then. Then, I won’t have to shoulder the brunt of it alone. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” I say, still ghosting my fingers over his skull. “I wish I could fix it.” 

But do I really? 

The storm continues on as I lock up the house and Jackson turns on the TV in the living room. I can’t remember the last time either of us watched TV there - he took to watching it in the guest room and I’ve never been much of a TV watcher at all - lately, that TV has been reserved for Avi’s too-loud and too-bright cartoons. 

“Wanna watch a show with me?” he asks over his shoulder, hearing me walk back from the front door. 

I glance at the screen and don’t recognize what’s on, but he looks so soft and comfortable there in his gray sweatpants and dark blue t-shirt. “Sure,” I say. “Let me go put my pajamas on, and I’ll be right back.” 

When I join him on the couch in my patterned pajama pants and pink t-shirt, he extends one arm so I can lean against his side. I rest my arm on his leg and he squeezes me close, kissing the side of my head and breathing with his nose in my hair. 

“You smell the same as I remember,” he says, pulling out my ponytail so my hair fans out on my shoulders. 

I look up at him, eyes twinkling. “Yeah?” He nods. “Well, I never change shampoo.” 

He runs his fingers through my hair, threading them deep and combing all the way to the ends. I get chills over my entire body from that motion, and he dips his head slowly so he can kiss me - our mouths open against each other as they move lazily, familiarly. 

His hand moves from my hair to the small of my back, sneaking up my shirt to rest on my ribcage. I wrap one arm around his stomach and pull myself closer, moving my lips from his mouth to his chin, then lower to his neck. I breathe against his skin, opening my mouth and nipping small sections of his skin between my teeth, sighing against his throat as his fingers grip me tighter. 

Before I know it, he pushes me onto my back and hovers over me, the tip of his nose touching mine. I lay my hands flat on his chest, fingers barely grazing the collar of his shirt, and tug my bottom lip into my mouth. 

I know I should say no. But I can’t. I can’t say no to him. I can’t remember the last time we made so much eye contact, had so much sex, acted so genuinely. 

My brain tells me to give it up. My heart tells me that’s impossible. 

He claims my right breast with his hand, squeezing it heartily as he runs his thumb over my nipple to make it harden. He tips my chin up with his nose and sucks on the skin under my jaw, which makes me gasp with my eyes centered on the ceiling. That spot drives me crazy, and he knows it. 

Moving his hand from my breast, he sneaks it down my body to rest between my legs. He rubs his palm rhythmically up and down, which makes my thighs part and my hips lift up to meet him. 

That spot drives me crazier. 

I remember the first time he found it, too, as clear as if it were yesterday. It was during our honeymoon in Bali, in our hotel room on the 10th floor. Our sliding glass doors were wide open to welcome a gorgeous view of the ocean at night, and the white curtains were billowing in gracefully. 

I’d made him wait until after we were married. I’d stuck to one thing in my religion, which was keeping my promise that I’d be a virgin for my husband. Jackson is the only man I’ve ever had sex with, the only man I’ve let see the stripped-down and vulnerable version of me, the only man who I’ve let see the dark and sexual side of, too. 

We’d gone out to dinner, but food wasn’t on either of our minds. We knew what was going to happen when we got back to that room. I was nervous, but excited. He’d made me come before - accidentally - while we were making out. He got me so worked up, all hot and bothered, that it took the littlest thing to send me over the edge. It only happened a few times, none on purpose, and usually while I was pressed underneath him with his erection poking insistently somewhere below my waist. 

But this time, it was going to be the real thing. We were going to be completely naked, handing ourselves over to the other. I trusted him with everything I had, I knew there was no reason to be scared. But still, it was my virginity. I was comfortable with it, it was a part of myself I’d always held close. It was part of my identity at that point - I was a 24-year-old virgin. And after that night, it wasn’t going to be part of me anymore. 

But I was married to the most amazing man, and I knew it. I wanted to give him that part of me and know he was the only one who had it. 

So we got back into our hotel room and I deliberately locked the door behind us. 

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said, wringing my hands nervously. “You wait out here.” 

“I know I follow you around like a puppy,” he said. “But damn. I know there’s a line somewhere.” I blushed red, and he gave me a quick peck on the cheek. “I’ll be out here.” 

I retreated into the bathroom and dug around in the closet for what I’d hidden in there earlier that day - a white set of lingerie that was basically just a silky slip and tiny, lacy underwear. I put it on and stared at myself in the mirror, wondering if this was a stupid thing to do. I fluffed my hair, put on some subtle lip gloss and a little blush, then took a deep breath. 

Addie and Amelia told me that he’d go crazy for this. But what if he didn’t? I felt silly, like I was trying too hard. I got so close to taking it off, but I powered through. 

The look on his face when I came out of the bathroom was definitely worth keeping it on. 

“Holy hell,” he said, freezing as he unbuttoned his shirt. He widened his eyes like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. I stood in the entryway, and he let out a long breath. “Get over here,” he said. “I need to get my hands on my wife.” 

He went down on me first and gave me the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life - way stronger than the accidental ones I’d had while we were dry-humping. I saw stars and he didn’t come up for breath until I was shaking and spent. The lingerie got tossed to the floor, and he was gentle with me when I gave him my virginity. He held me around the waist and kissed me, made sure I was comfortable, made sure I felt good, too. He told me I was beautiful and that he loved me and that he was so lucky to be married to me. 

And as I looked at him, I knew there would never be anyone else that I’d love. He was the one. 

Looking at him now, I feel the same way. 

He rubs me over my pajama pants and I lose my breath for a moment, then say, “We shouldn’t… out here.” 

I glance towards Aveline’s room and he understands me instantly. “Oh, right,” he says, then picks up the remote to switch off the TV. “So much for that show,” he laughs.

“I mean… if you want to watch something,” I say, resting back against the cushion and giving him a sly look. 

“You’re funny,” he says, then flicks off the light in the kitchen. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.” 

We keep the curtains open as the storm still rages outside, but he locks our door. He pulls my shirt off over my head and tosses it in a corner, then walks us both over to the bed so we tumble down onto it while giggling at our clumsiness. I smile through our kisses, ignoring the guilt that’s simmering in my stomach because of the lie I’m letting him live, but I try to ignore it and center on the feeling of his lips on my collarbone instead. 

I wriggle out of my pajama pants and bunch them in a ball at the end of the bed, and he kisses his way down my torso until he gets to my thighs. He lifts his gaze up, looking at me through his eyelashes, and a big flash of lightning snaps outside and lights up our room, putting him in clear perspective where he’s settled between my legs. He smiles and runs his tongue from the inside of my knee to my inner thigh, and I flop onto my back with a sigh. 

He’s gentle at first - pressing soft kisses to my outer lips and nipping at the sensitive skin, getting me worked up on purpose. I let him take his time. I don’t pressure him to hurry or whine with impatience, I just enjoy the feeling of his mouth on me. He massages my thighs in his hands with his mouth on me, closing his eyes and pushing his tongue inside, and I let out a low, sensual moan as I press on the back of his head. 

I grind my hips against his face - mostly against his chin, and feel him graze the electric nerves that always do it to me. During a certain stage of our sex life, he’d pay too much attention to that part of me, and the feeling would be too intense to handle. That’s when the screaming started, and the questions from Aveline followed. But now, the balance is perfect. He has my body completely memorized. 

He looks up at me and sticks two fingers in his mouth, wetting them before sliding them inside me. 

“Oh,  _ god _ ,” I moan, when the warmth of his mouth envelops me again. 

He nods, and I can feel his nose brush what’s throbbing. “I know,” he murmurs. 

I can’t keep my hips still. I turn to the side and he follows, but pushes me back to lay flat again not long after, then keeps me anchored with one hand. He massages my hip bone with his thumb as he pulls the nerves between his lips and sucks on them softly, and I let out a series of high-pitched whimpers and let my legs fall open. He moves the hand that had been on my hip to rest on the bone on the inside of my thigh, and my pelvis lifts from the mattress to press flush against his face. 

“Come, April,” he says, sucking harder. 

I push hard on the back of his head, and he doesn’t fight against it. He pushes his fingers inside me rougher and deeper, and I can’t help but writhe and moan his name loudly as everything simultaneously pieces together and rips apart. 

He looks up at me as I pant, staring at the ceiling with my lips parted slightly. He kisses the apex of my ribs and crawls on top of me, stealing a kiss on the corner of my jaw, too. “You’re perfect,” he whispers. 

I move my eyes from the ceiling to lock with his. “God, I love you,” I say. 

Contrary to the rigid religious beliefs I’d been raised on, it wasn’t long after Jackson and I met that I went back to his apartment after a date knowing that we’d end up making out. For God’s sake, I’d kissed him before I said a single word to him - it was an important pillar of our relationship. It was probably the third week; we’d just gotten back from Pick Me Up cafe in Boystown after having breakfast for dinner, and it was either walk home with him to Lakeview or get on the bus back home to Old Town. And I wasn’t ready to leave him yet. 

We’d shared a few other kisses after the one in Three Dots and a Dash. But since then, the shyer side of me started to come out. We saw each other every day, and it wasn’t every day that I was on a high from passing the hardest exam of my career and feeling bolstered with confidence from my friends. He got to know the real side of me - the bashful, tentative, nervous side. I was always worried he wouldn’t like that side, but later he’d tell me that that was what made him fall so in love with me. 

We’d gone up to his room and I saw a book open on his bed. He hadn’t really talked much about his prospective career as a doctor yet, but I could see it was a medical textbook. 

“What’s this?” I asked, walking over in my socks. I was wearing a fluffy, mid-thigh length black skirt with a light pink tank top; it was early spring. 

“Oh,” he said, following my eyes. “Just stuff for school.” 

“Med school?” I said. He nodded, and I sat down on his bed and pulled the book onto my lap. As I read, I raised my eyebrows, blown away. “I have no idea what any of this means,” I giggled. 

He smiled, one of those smiles that I was learning were saved only for me, and sat down next to me. He gently took the book and flipped it to a page with a model of a body on it - an illustration with all the bones in the human body labeled. 

“I can teach you,” he said. 

My eyes scanned the page at all the words I was so unfamiliar with, and I agreed. I was interested in what he had to say, and more interested in spending as much time with him as I could. 

“Okay,” he said. “Lay back.” 

I did as he said and got comfortable, feeling him set the book to the side after glancing at it for a second. “Right here,” he said, tracing my jaw from ear to ear. “That’s your maxilla.” 

Following his finger, he pressed his lips to my skin, soft as whispers. I felt chills rise up on my entire body as my eyes closed, and I let a long sigh from my nose. 

“This,” he said, touching my collarbones. “Is the clavicle.” He pushed himself up onto his hands and kissed it, gently pulling the skin between his teeth. “And I love yours.” 

He dragged his hand between my breasts, over the middle part of my bra, and I was sure he could feel my heartbeat hammering like it was trying to break right out. “Your sternum,” he said, making heady eye contact. 

He moved to straddle my hips and the heat pooling between my legs was unignorable as he ran his hands down my upper arms. “Your humerus,” he said, bending to leave a trail of kisses there, which made my hair stand on end. “Your ulna,” he continued, going lower. “Your radius,” he finished at my forearms. 

He took my wrists in his fingers, lifting them up to his mouth. I watched him as he opened his mouth over the insides, his warm, wet tongue touching the vulnerable skin there. “Your carpals,” he whispered, then moved to my palm. “Metacarpals.” He then shifted to my fingers, pressing little kisses to each one. “Your phalanges,” he said. 

He shifted his weight back and ran his strong hands down my thighs, which made me squirm with desire. I tried to hide it like I was just situating, though. “Your femur,” he said. “Stronger than concrete.” 

He moved to rest beside me, hands grazing over my knees. “Your patella,” he said. “Tibia,” he said, going lower to my shin. “Fibula,” he whispered, moving around to my calf. He took my ankles in his hands - I never knew I could be turned on by someone touching my ankles until he pressed his lips to the bone on the inside of my left one. “Tarsals,” he murmured, mouth moving against me. He took my foot in his strong hands and massaged it fluidly, which made my eyelids flutter closed from the feeling. “Metatarsals,” he finished, and if there were any more bones to be named, he didn’t name them. 

Instead, he crawled over me again, angled his head to one side, and kissed me more passionately than I’d ever been kissed. He knew exactly what he was doing and I was learning fast - my hands finding a resting place low on his hips as he covered his body with my own. I didn’t push him away when his hand found my breast; in fact, I arched my back to get closer to him. And in response to that, his mouth wandered to my neck and he gave me two hickies that, the next day, I tried desperately to cover with makeup. But they refused to be hidden. 

We didn’t wait long to say ‘I love you.’ It just seemed right, it seemed like it was waiting to happen when it did. I had slept over at his apartment, which wasn’t uncommon. Just sleeping in the same bed, not anything else. We made out heavily before falling asleep, but that was it. Mostly every night of the week one of us was in the other’s bed, wrapped up tight in each other before we’d have to go our separate ways to work or school. Then, when our days were over, we’d find each other again. 

That particular morning, it was me in his bed. I had the day off work for some reason I can’t remember - but he still had school. I was watching him get ready, half awake, lying there under the covers in my shorts and camisole. When he was all packed to go, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and walked over to give me a kiss on the forehead. 

“Have a good day off, baby girl,” he said, lips lingering. 

“I will,” I said, my voice still hoarse from sleep. 

He framed my face with one hand and gave me a slow kiss on the lips. “Okay,” he said. Then it just came out. “I love you.” 

I remember feeling like I was floating. It happened so naturally, without any thought, like we’d been saying it for years though we’d only been dating months. I looked him straight in the eyes, smiled, and said, “I love you, too.” 

We spent a moment beaming at each other before he gave me one last kiss, then headed out the door. 

Now, naked in the a bed many years later, saying it to him feels just as natural. I couldn’t begin to count how many times we’ve said it to each other over the course of our relationship, but nothing about it is routine or habitual. I say it because I mean it. And I know he does, too.

“I love you,” he moans, returning the sentiment as he pushes inside me. I’m lying on my back now, and his thrusts are slow and sensual, hips grinding against my own. I feel my inner muscles flutter as he goes as deep as he can, and he lets out a long groan. I giggle to myself, one hand on his chest. He’s always been such a groaner. 

I drag my nails down his shoulder blades as I come, and he bites the slope between my shoulder and neck as his hips buck aggressively against mine, holding one position for elongated periods of time as he comes inside me. 

I press insistent, quick kisses to his sweaty neck and chest as he comes down, heavy on top of me. Instead of my nails, I drag the pads of my fingers over his back to soothe him, and feel how heavy my eyelids are. Nothing sounds better than falling asleep in his arms right now, but I have to go clean myself up first. There’s a lot of wetness between my legs - I think I just came so hard that it must have gotten pretty messy, and I can’t go to sleep like this. 

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper, lips against his ear. “Let me up.” 

I shuffle to the bathroom in the dark, and gasp when I turn on the light. The wetness between my legs isn’t mine or Jackson’s come - it’s sticky, dark red blood. And not just a little bit of it, either. It’s coating my thighs, having dripped all the way down past my knees to my ankles. Some of it is already stiff and cakey, having begun to dry. 

The room spins as my whole body shakes, jumping in time all the way back to last June. Standing in this very bathroom, having woken up with the feeling of someone stabbing me with a serrated knife and twisting it inside my guts. That same feeling didn’t happen this time, but the blood is identical. Now, it’s dripping onto the floor in singular droplets, following me like a trail. 

Last time, it had caught me by surprise. I had sat down on the toilet, taken one look at my underwear, and screamed for Jackson. But now, time moves slowly. I feel like I’m pushing my way through a thick fog, trying to get my thoughts to connect and words to come out of my mouth. 

Last June, we’d been trying. This time, I hadn’t even known I was pregnant. Sure, I’d skip days on my pill every now and then, but I didn’t think it mattered. I’m forgetful. It happens. 

Now, I’ve miscarried a baby I never knew I was carrying. 

Before, I’d shouted his name. Screamed, yelled, cried it. Now, it passes my lips with barely a trembling whisper. I don’t want this again. I can’t take this again. 

Not the loss of the baby I wasn’t aware of. That’s horrible and tragic, but what I can’t take is the way he’ll look at me. 

But I can’t hide this, and I know it. I need to go to the hospital, so I say his name a little louder. 

“Jackson,” I murmur. 

“Yeah, babe?”

Tears prick the backs of my eyes hearing his voice that’s just out of reach. I start to cry when I say, “I need help.” 

I hear his footsteps walk from the bed, and when he appears in the light of the bathroom and sees the state I’m in, his face blanches as he takes a surprised step backwards. “Jesus Christ, April. What’s going on?” 

My mouth turns down in uncontrollable sobs that I can’t keep at bay, and he loses his question as he rushes to me. “We gotta go,” he says. “We gotta get you to the hospital, we gotta call Vivian-” 

“I need to clean myself up first,” I say. 

“We don’t have time for that!” he insists. 

I look at him pointedly, tears streaming without stopping. “Yes, we do,” I sob. “It’s already happened.” 

We stare at each other for a prolonged moment, communicating silently with our eyes. When he breaks, his face changes and I know he knows. He opens the linen closet, pulls out a dark blue cloth and gets it wet, then kneels to run it up my legs. He washes the blood away and I stand there, letting him. 

As I change into sweatpants, he gets on the phone with Vivian. It’s barely 1am - earlier than the last time we had to call her in such a situation - but he woke her, nonetheless. Either way, she’s rushing over and she doesn’t live that far. As we wait for her to get here, Jackson changes clothes with his back facing me, and I slip my feet into tennis shoes and throw a light jacket on. 

He won’t look at me directly, but when I see his eyes in passing, they’re hooded with confusion and determination. Without having to ask, I know something is going on in his head, but it’s not the time to ask about it right now. I need to get to the hospital to see what went wrong, even though I already know. 

A specialist whose name I lose right after she says it sits us down in a dimly-lit office and tells me that I have a hostile uterus. She explains it - or at least she tries - in terms that I can understand, but I only hear one thing. 

These babies I lost - both of them - neither were my fault. It wasn’t due to stress, it wasn’t due to a mistake I made, it was because of the way my body works. My cervix isn’t welcoming to Jackson’s sperm, and what does hold isn’t exactly welcomed by my uterus. Aveline was a stroke of luck, the specialist says, and there’s no reason why that couldn’t happen again. We’re just looking towards more hardship and loss if we actively try. It’s inevitable. 

Jackson is silent through the whole thing. He’s silent as the doctor speaks, silent as I’m wheeled out in a wheelchair I don’t need, silent as he sits in the driver’s seat and I’m next to him, staring ahead.

It’s almost 4am. I feel like I could sleep for a year. 

I glance over at him and see him staring intently at the steering wheel like it’ll give him answers that I withheld. I know he knows. He picks his head up after a few moments pass and looks over to me, his eyes shining with something I can’t name. 

When he looks at me, I start to cry. Not because I just lost another baby, not because I’m scared of what he might say, or because I know we’re going to fight. I start to cry because I know I’ve lost him all over again. 


	6. Chapter 6

On our wedding day, Jackson and I broke a cardinal rule. We saw each other before the ceremony. 

I hadn’t been in my dress yet and he hadn’t been in his suit, but still. It was against the rules, and my sisters made that plenty clear. But I couldn’t help it. 

He’d said,  _ I can’t believe you made me wear this shirt.  _

It was a black t-shirt with the words ‘groom-to-be’ on it. I had the matching one, in white, for the bride. 

_ Oh, shut up. You like it _ . 

My hair and makeup were done. The only step I had left to take was to put my dress on and walk down the aisle towards the rest of my life. But I couldn’t resist seeing him one last time before it was official. 

_ It’s cheesy.  _

_ Blame my sister, then.  _

The shirts hadn’t been my idea - they’d been Alice’s. She bought them for us on Amazon and laid them out this morning. Of course, I thought the idea was cute, but Jackson practically had to be forced into his. Even still, he’s a good sport when it comes to me. 

_ I do. Because I would’ve been able to convince you otherwise eventually. In other ways… _

He neared my face to kiss me, but I turned away after summoning all the willpower I had. 

_ My makeup! _

He rolled his eyes and ran his hands down my upper arms, giving me chills. 

_ I can’t wait until you’re my wife _ . 

I beamed up at him. I never got tired of hearing those words. 

_ I can’t wait to be married to you, I can’t wait to show you how amazing I can make your body feel… _

_ Jackson... _

Interrupting us, I heard Libby’s voice sounding from down the hall, calling for me. Before shooing Jackson away, I wrapped my arms tight around his waist and gave him a big hug, then looked up into his face with sparkling eyes as he spoke to me.

_ I’ll see you at the altar. _

_ I’ll be the one in the white dress.  _

Libby knew exactly who I’d been with and why, but she didn’t scold me. Her eyes told me not to go sneaking off again, but she had no verbal warnings. I knew she wouldn’t. Everyone knew how much in love the two of us were, it was a crime to keep us apart for more than a few hours. We were practically attached at the hip. He was my favorite person in the world, and I was overjoyed that he was going to be my husband. He was my best friend, and I couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my life with him. 

Walking down the aisle, he had looked at me like I was the sun. Like he had never seen anything or anyone more beautiful. As we locked eyes, I mouthed “ _ Hi _ ,” and gave him a tiny wave. 

With glassy eyes, he mouthed it back. 

We have the ceremony on video, thankfully, because I was on another planet while it was happening. He said his vows and I said mine - the words I had worked on painstakingly for weeks - and wiped tears away as we did. After we were done, we grasped each other’s hands and watched each other’s faces as the minister went through the rest of it. 

_ Jackson, you may kiss your bride. _

I can hear the words today in my head as if they were said yesterday. I can still remember the way his arms felt locked low around my waist as we shared our first kiss as a married couple. When we pulled away from it, we stayed close enough so the tips of our noses were touching. 

I can almost still hear him say it; his voice quiet - a whisper meant only for me.  

_ I love you.  _

***

I relished every time I heard those three words for the past 48 hours or so, because of how little I heard them throughout the last year. Before our downfall, we used to repeat them like a mantra. Then they dropped from our vernacular, only used for Aveline. Not for each other. 

We drive home in silence and I feel like I’m going to throw up. My stomach clenches and twists, and I’m gripping the armrest for dear life. I just want this over with. I know a blowup is going to happen, and pushing it off is only making me anxious. 

When we get home and walk in the front door, Vivian is on the couch. She has bags under her eyes and looks exhausted, but I’m sure I look worse from the expression she throws our way. 

“I-I can stay,” she offers, standing. “I don’t mind sleeping over, if you need-” 

“No,” I say, sticking a hand out with a flat palm. “We’ll call you an Uber.” 

Jackson walks inside Aveline’s room to check on her as I pull out my phone, clicking on the Uber app so Vivian can get home. I walk her out, tell her she can have the day off tomorrow, and lock the door behind her once the car arrives. 

The house sits in silence once she leaves, even after Jackson walks out of Aveline’s room and shuts the door behind him. The quietness is so thick that I can hear the light traffic stories and stories below us, and normally that never catches my attention. 

I run my tongue over my bottom lip and let out a shaky breath as I take a few steps forward, glancing at the coffee table in the middle of the living room. 

We used to play Scrabble there. I don’t know why the memory comes flooding back to me, but it does. We used to sit right there in our pajamas on slow nights where we stayed in, glasses of wine at our sides, and play Scrabble until we’d somehow end up on the floor, naked. Somehow it always led to that. Jackson loved when I flirted with him, and I loved when he let me win. Which wasn’t all the time, but I think it was more than he let on.

I still have one foot in the past when I hear his voice. 

“I can’t believe you,” he says, and I pick my head up to look at him. He’s standing in the kitchen, one hand on the counter, about ten feet away. He’s shaking his head, jaw clenched. “I can’t believe you’d lie to me like you did.” 

“I didn’t lie to you,” I say, my voice quiet but not weak. 

“Yes, you did,” he snaps. “You let me…” He turns his back after scrunching up his lips and closing his eyes. He flips back around before saying, “God, April! You let me believe like an  _ idiot _ … you just let me live my life without telling me. You kept me in the dark. How was that fair to me? How was that fair? You lied. You fucking lied.” 

I lower my eyebrows and let a huff of breath from my nose. “Derek said not to overwhelm you,” I say, because it’s true. I know it’s not the complete truth, but it’s what I have to stand on. 

Jackson shakes his head and looks at the floor. “That’s no excuse,” he says, then repeats himself. “That’s no excuse. I’m your husband. I deserve… I deserved to know. You took advantage of me.” He grits his teeth together. “You took advantage of me, and you know that."

His eyes are burning into me, but I can’t meet them. I do know that. I know what I did. I just can’t stand to hear it. 

“You let me believe that everything was like it used to be,” he continues. “How could you do that? How could you not tell me?” 

“How was I supposed to tell you?” I ask, throwing up my hands. “How would  _ you _ have told  _ me _ ? Huh?” He pauses, staring. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. It isn’t that easy. I couldn’t just look at you after you woke up and started calling me Monkey and baby girl and say oh, by the way, you want a divorce.” My voice trembles by the end, and I clear my throat to try and make it stop. I won’t play the weak one between the two of us. 

“Don’t turn this around,” he says, voice low. “Don’t do that. This is about what  _ you _ did. I didn’t have a choice, I didn’t have a say in any of this. I had a fucking closed head injury, April! I had no idea what was going on. You were supposed to take care of me, that’s what a wife does-” 

“Good thing you don’t want me to be yours anymore then,” I spit, looking him up and down. 

He takes in a short breath. “If this would’ve been you,” he says. “I would’ve told you. Right away. No matter how hard it was.” 

I clench my fists. “No, you wouldn’t have,” I say. “Because you… it wasn’t that easy, okay? You can think that all you want, but you didn’t stand in my shoes. You didn’t stand here and  _ feel _ the way I used to feel when you looked at me.” My chin trembles and a lump begins to form in my throat, but I will it away. I look at him earnestly, eyes shining with imminent tears. “We had sex. Married sex. Not let-me-fuck-you-in-the-middle-of-the-night emergency sex. And…” I let out a trembling sigh. “I liked it. No, I loved it. And…” I cross my arms. “You wouldn’t have wanted to give that up, either.” I let out a long sigh and start to walk away towards our room.

“April,” he calls out. “April, come on. Stop, damn it.” 

I stare ahead into the darkness, keeping my voice soft because I’m close to Aveline’s room now. “Jackson, it’s been a long day, I can’t-” 

“We’re not done talking about this,” he says sternly.

I know that. But I don’t know how much more I can handle. I figure there’s a lot more to come, but I feel so weak. I just had a miscarriage, and I don’t have the strength for his barrage of insults right now. 

But I flip around anyway. “What more is there to talk about? We had sex. That’s it.” 

He closes the distance between us, walking to meet me in the hallway. “That’s not it, and we should talk about that.” 

I feel my shoulders deflate. “Fine,” I say, giving in. “Fine, talk about it.” I pause for a moment and look up to meet his eyes. “We had sex.” 

He meets mine with that familiar green intensity. “We had sex,” he repeats. “And that was…” 

“Confusing.” 

“Amazing.” 

We say the words at the same time, and I make an incredulous sound as he starts to talk instantly. “Well, sure, it was also amazing, but-” 

I interrupt him. “Stop! No, just stop. I’m not confused about the situation, because I know exactly what it was. Because it was. It  _ was _ amazing. It felt good for the first time in… forever. It felt like us. And now… now, I see it. It see it on your face, Jackson.” He looks at me, forehead wrinkled with frustration as his lips move to speak, but he stays quiet. “And I saw it before, right before it all happened. This is it. This is goodbye. And I knew this would happen, you know, when your memory came back. So while it was happening, I thought… well, if this is it, if we’re over, this is the way to go out.” I can’t meet his eyes now, I’m staring at his legs, at the floor, as I gesticulate with my hands. “At least this is what I wanna remember,” I continue. “The amazing. I wanna… end where we began. In a bed, in love.” My voice is trembling now as I look at him desperately. “And I just wanna keep us there for a minute,” I whimper. “And anything you say right now is gonna ruin it, so please just don’t…” 

“Don’t you see, this is what you do? You just decide how things are gonna go-” 

“I am not the one deciding-”

“Of course you’re the one deciding-” 

“What?!” 

“April, you’re always deciding! You decided you didn’t want another baby, you decided you did. Then you decided you wanted to make partner more. You decided to put Aveline in Queen of Angels, you decided we’d sleep in different rooms-” 

“No, I did not,” I say, raising one finger in the air. “No, I didn’t. That was you. That was all you. That one day I came home to find all your stuff in the guest room and the pillows on your side of the bed gone, that was you.” 

“But did I have another choice?” he bellows. 

“Keep your voice down,” I hiss. “Your daughter is sleeping.” 

We pause for a second, and I take in a breath to start again.

“ _ You  _ decide when you want to have sex with me,” I say, throwing his own words back at him. “You know what? No, not even that. I can’t call it that. You decide when you wanna come in that room and fuck me, then act like I’m not even there. I’m not a toy, Jackson! I’m not some… some toy for you to come inside, then pretend like it never happened the next day.” 

“You could’ve said no,” he growls. “Any of those times. But if I remember correctly, you always jumped at the chance.” 

“To be close to you!” I shriek. 

“Keep your voice down,” he says, copying me from just seconds before. 

My face is probably tomato-red by now; he’s worked me into a rage. He’s the only one who’s ever been able to make me feel this strongly. “ _ You’re _ the one who decided about the divorce,” I snarl. “You didn’t consult me, you didn’t ask. We didn’t talk about it. Just one day it was there, out in the open. You had decided.” 

He closes our bedroom door to keep the sound in. Neither of us has succeeded at lowering our voices. 

“And you agreed,” he says. “I didn’t force anything on you. I knew you weren’t going to bring it up, so I did. Simple as that.” 

“Why would I bring it up?” I ask. “We’ve been married for eight years. That’s eight years of me loving you, being devoted to you, eight years of me willing to fight for you. And now, suddenly, you’re showing me that you’re not willing to do those things for me.” 

“No, that’s not it at all,” he says. 

“That’s what I’m getting from it,” I say. “And that’s what you’re showing Avi, too. She’s six, Jackson! She hears us fighting and she wants to know why I deal with you yelling at me all the time.” 

“Oh, I’m sure she said that,” he says. 

“Close enough!” I shout. “She hears us. She knows what’s going on.” 

“And that’s exactly why I suggested what I did,” he says. “Her growing up with separated parents will be healthier in the long run than growing up around two who scream at each other all the goddamn time.” 

I cross my arms and turn away from him, skin boiling hot. I chew on the inside of my cheek until the skin turns ragged and I taste the metallic flavor of blood on my tongue.

“We were supposed to be a family,” I say. 

“But you don’t want that either, though,” he says, his voice still so venomous. “You wanna be partner. That’s what you want.” 

I narrow my eyes in his direction. “What are you talking about?” 

“You don’t want another baby,” he says. “You didn’t want one a year ago, you definitely didn’t want one this time. You’re probably thankful for your hostile uterus.”

My eyes burn from what he’s said. “You don’t mean that,” I say. “How could you say something like that to me?” I cover my mouth with one hand and feel tears stream down onto my fingers. “Of course I want a baby, just not now! And not then, either. It wasn’t the right time, can’t you see that? Can’t you see that it’s more complicated than not wanting one or wanting one? It’s not a fish, Jackson! It’s a child we’re talking about.” 

“Don’t condescend me,” he says. “I’m fully aware. We’ve raised Aveline for six years now.” 

I bite my lower lip, ignoring him. “I didn’t even know about this one,” I say, and it’s the truth. It was just as much of a surprise to me as it was to him. “And of course I want you and our family, of course I want that. But you won’t let me have it.” 

“It’s not that simple.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying, Jackson!” I insist. “This whole time! There are eight sides to everything. There’s never a black and white, one easy way and one hard way. You can say it all you want, but do you see it? You don’t! That miscarriage, the one you  _ hate _ me for, wasn’t my fault. Can you see that now? My uterus won’t hold a child normally. It wasn’t because I ‘put pressure on myself at work’ or anything like that. So you can stop hating me for it now.” 

He’s bristling, but he says, “I never hated you.” 

“I beg to differ,” I say. 

We’re silent for a moment before he continues. “You let me forget. You wanted those memories to stay gone.” 

“That wasn’t it,” I say. “I felt guilty. I contemplated how to do it… how to tell you, but I just couldn’t figure out a way.” I shake my head and touch my forehead. “I didn’t want you to freak out.” 

I see his temples swell as he clenches his jaw. “You were going to let me forget that we fought? All the time. That we lost a baby? That I asked for a divorce?” He pauses for a moment, then sits down at the edge of the bed while I stay standing. “You were going to let me forget that I cheated on you?” 

_ This is our home now. _

We moved into our two-bedroom apartment in a big complex on 600 Lakeshore Drive soon after we got married. We had help from professional movers to get all of our stuff inside, but the unpacking was up to us. We moved in around Thanksgiving, but we were sweating and tired even though the weather wasn’t hot. It had actually just started to snow; I remember standing at the bare floor-to-ceiling windows, undecorated with curtains, to watch the flurries come down. 

_ Do you still like it? _

I looked back at him from where I stood at the windows, my t-shirt stretched-out and sweaty from our full day of moving. But I had a smile on my face, because we were together. We had each other, and this was our place. We were married and we had a house. We officially had a life together, and I’d never experienced a feeling quite like this one. I felt complete. 

_ Of course I do.  _

He walked over and stood behind me at those windows, looking out over the city that we called home. It was dark even though it was just early evening - fall tends to do that - and the windows downtown were all lit up. I remember being unable to believe that this was going to be  _ our _ view. This was all ours. We bought it together and were going to create a life here, going to start our family here. 

_ It’s beautiful, isn’t it? _

I had to say it out loud. I felt him nod against me, his forehead pressed to the side of my head over my hair. His arms tightened around my waist and we swayed back and forth gently, his lips moving to whisper over my ear and jawbone.

_ Not quite as beautiful as my wife.  _

His wife. The words were still fresh and new and I loved hearing them. I was his. I belonged to him and he belonged to me, and I felt so lucky to have him.

I held his wrists and ran my hands up his forearms, rubbing his skin slowly as I tipped my neck to one side so his lips had more room. I felt his eyelashes grace my pulse point as he moved lower and a tiny moan escaped my lips. Sex was still pretty new to us then - we’d had our first time a mere month before. Now, we did it every chance we got, and moving in was a great reason to celebrate. We had to christen the house - he’d been saying that all afternoon. And finally, we had the chance. We were alone and too tired to think about unpacking, and we just wanted to be close to one another.

So with boxes lining the perimeter of the empty living room, he laid me down on the rug. He switched the electric fireplace on to warm us up, and turned on a slow, sultry playlist on his phone that sat on the counter in the kitchen. 

_ You’re so romantic. Your wife must be very lucky.  _

I laid there with my knees bent up and my arms splayed above my head as he got the mood ready, and smiled when he came back over to join me. 

_ Well, she is. But so am I. _

He lowered himself to the rug and crawled over me, one knee on either side of my hips to anchor me down. He dipped his face into the crook of my neck, drawing his teeth and tongue over the slope of my shoulder and the angles of my collarbones. 

_ Because she’s the sexiest, kindest, smartest, most caring person I’ve ever known. And she married me.  _

My lips press together in a faint smile as I stare at the unlit chandelier on the ceiling. 

_ Well, she wouldn’t want to be with anyone else.  _

He rolled me over onto my stomach and I rested my cheek on the tops of my hands, head turned to one side. His fingers massaged my shoulders fluidly and I went limp underneath him, my tense muscles turning to mush. He moved lower to my mid-back, then to the small of it, where he spent ample time with his thumbs digging in. He got to my ass last, squeezing the supple flesh in his hands and making me press my face into the rug and moan.

_ God, you’re sexy. _

He rolled me back over, pulled my shoulders off the ground so he could take my shirt off, and I lay underneath him in my jeans and lacy purple bra. He lowered his head to rest his lips between my breasts, resting his cheek against the swell of the left one while he swiped over the other with his hand, squeezing it roughly while making heady eye contact. He kissed his way down my ribcage, pausing at the waistband of my jeans so he could unbutton and unzip them quickly.

He pushed his hand inside, over my underwear, and I lifted my hips up to meet him. I let out a breathy moan as he slowly touched me, learning what tortured me and what I liked. I was learning at the same time he was; I was so new at all of it. 

_ You like that? _

I couldn’t answer with words. Instead, I just shakily nodded and spread my knees wider as he continued to stroke me through the cloth of my underwear. It didn’t take long for him to get me to orgasm, either; my body was so unused to the sensations that nearly any little thing would’ve sent me over. Before I knew it, my hips were jerking erratically beneath his hand and I was being inundated with feelings I’d only felt a few times before. 

As I came, he slipped his hand out from the front of my jeans and snaked it behind my back, unclasping my bra as I struggled to catch my breath. As I lay there panting, he tossed it to the side and covered my nipple with his mouth, pulling on it and sucking hard, kneading the other with his strong hand.

Later, he had my naked back pressed up against those same windows as he kissed the life out of me. I trailed my hands over his shoulders, down his arms, to rest over the hands that were planted on my waist. He pulled my bottom lip away from my mouth and ran his teeth over it, releasing it with a soft ‘pop’ once his head was far enough away. 

_ Turn around. _

His voice was soft, but sure. I didn’t ask why, I just took his suggestion and did it. I turned with my ass to his hips and pressed my palms against the window, taking in that same view of the city from earlier. Except now, the snow had started to come down heavier. 

We were both completely naked, and he took my hips in his hands and pulled me flush to his body. I could feel his erection pressing insistently against me, and it made my heartbeat speed up tenfold. We hadn’t tried this position yet, and I was so ready for it.

He ran his hands over the swell of my ass repeatedly, squeezing the muscle and lowering his mouth to the back of my shoulder, where he sank his teeth in. 

_ Are you okay with this? _

I smiled to myself at the fact that he could never be too domineering. I loved that he always made sure I was okay before going forth with anything. 

_ I want you. _

My answer was enough. Slowly, he entered me from behind, inch by inch as I lost my breath and pressed my forehead into the cool glass windowpane. Once he was fully inside, my jaw dropped and a gust of breath escaped me, and he kept a tight hold on my hips. 

I told him,  _ move _ .

And he began to. 

His thrusts started out slow and gentle, but soon turned passionate and deliciously forceful. My fingers slipped down the window as I arched my back closer to him, and he kept his mouth on the crook of my neck the entire time. He came first, and while his hips still bucked and twitched, he reached around and snuck two fingers inside me to stimulate those nerves that I learned would always get me there. 

He dropped kisses on my shoulders after we had both finished, but he was still inside me. 

_ You’re beautiful. I’m so glad that you’re mine, forever. I love you. _

But how long had that forever lasted? Eight years is not forever. Eight years that ends with the mention of divorce, a bout of amnesia, and a confession of cheating is not forever. 

This is not how I imagined my marriage to him would play out. Looking at him now - his angry face, hooded eyes, and taut jaw - this is not the man I married. 

The Jackson I married eight years ago would’ve never cheated on me. He loved me more than life, and I him. This isn’t us. This can’t be us. This can’t be what we turned into.

I glance at the balcony outside our room and feel my chest crack and falter as I picture us there two summers ago, feeding each other sugarcoated strawberries. I can still feel the way his lips felt wrapped around my fingertips, the gentle touch of his tongue as I pushed the fruit into his mouth. I remember my eyes glinting as I sucked on the pad of his pointer finger and thumb, making sure I tasted every last sweet grain of sugar.

That married couple can’t be the one I see now - standing a strained distance away from each other like strangers in a familiar room. Right now, I feel like I don’t know him. No, I don’t just feel that way. Right now, I don’t know him. 

My mouth falls open and I lose my breath. I take a step back with one hand to my heart, unable to regulate my racing heartbeat as I watch this person I once knew turn into someone I’ve never met. 

“You cheated on me?” I say, my voice weak and wavering, having lost its vigor from mere moments ago. 

His face changes from defiant anger to confusion to realization. He realizes that though there was plenty I knew and withheld from him, that was one thing he had never told me. That was his own personal secret, one I hadn’t tucked away. 

Looks like we both had things we were hiding. 

“April, I-” 

I cut him off. “When?” My lower lip is trembling and I feel like I could throw up. I trusted him with everything I have, and now all of that is tossed down the drain. 

“It didn’t-”

“Who?” I spit. “And why didn’t you tell me?” I shake my head slowly. “I guess I wasn’t the only one lying, was I? How could you look at me and say all those horrible things, knowing that you were living just as much of a lie as I was?” 

“It didn’t matter, April!” he says. “It didn’t mean anything.” 

I cross my arms and hunch my shoulders up by my ears. “It meant enough for you to keep it from me,” I say, keeping my voice low and even. “Tell me everything.” 

He lifts a hand to his head, massaging his temple on one side. “I don’t want… that isn’t… it doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago, I can’t even-” 

“Tell me,” I demand. “Tell me right now.” 

We stare at each other, testing limits for a long time until he breaks. “Fine,” he says, one hand on his hip. “It was after we lost the baby. The first one. It happened at work. I was torn up… I was messed up. And you weren’t talking about it, I felt like I couldn’t talk to you. So I was at work in an on-call room, crying. It wasn’t my best moment. Obviously, I mean. Obviously, it wasn’t my best moment. And… she walked in on me crying-” 

“Who?” I ask. 

He lifts his eyes from the floor to meet mine. “Her name is Norah.” 

I knit my eyebrows together and close my eyes for a second, trying to place the name with a face. “Norah, I don’t know a Norah,” I say. 

“She’s an intern,” he mumbles, clearly ashamed. 

A whole new fire is lit in my belly. “An  _ intern _ ?” I shriek. “Really, Jackson, an intern? A kid… a fucking kid!” 

“She came onto me!” he counters back.

“Yeah, the oldest excuse in the book,” I say. “Poor you.” 

“She found me crying and talked to me, damn it,” he says. “She talked to me and you wouldn’t. You wanted to pretend like it never happened, you didn’t even think that it would hurt me. It hurt me a lot, April. A whole fucking lot. And you didn’t even care.” 

“Don’t tell me I don’t care when you’re off screwing interns in a supply closet.” 

He throws his head back. “I didn’t screw anyone. She kissed me, that was it. I stopped her after a few seconds-” 

“Oh, a  _ few _ seconds? Plural?” I say. 

“The important part is that I stopped it, I stopped her!” he insists. 

I turn my back on him and walk into our closet, where I yank my pajamas out from a pull-out drawer. “What a saint you are,” I spit. 

He follows me, but I stay faced the other way. “You can’t condemn me for this,” he says. “I was going through the same thing you were-” 

I flip around. “I can’t condemn you for kissing another woman while married to me?” I roll my eyes and scoff. “Listen to yourself, Jackson, god.” I pause for a second, searching his eyes with mine. “That’s not what marriage is. We go through hard times together, we deal with things _together_. You don’t go running off to some other woman’s arms - some _little_ _girl’s_ arms, no less - to make you feel better. You…” I rip off my shirt and stand there in front of him for a moment, in only my lounge pants and sports bra. “Since we’ve been married, you are the only one I’ve ever thought of. You’re the one I want when I’m sad, when I’m happy, when I’m angry - god, I even want you then.” I take a step closer to him. “I’ve loved you every second. Every single second, no matter what. You’re the only one who’s ever touched me, ever had me intimately, the only one who really _knows_ me.” I let out a trembling breath. “Put yourself in my shoes for a second. Can you imagine how you’d feel if some other man saw me like this?” I strip off my soft pants and stand in front of him in just my underthings. His eyes graze my body from my shoulders to my feet, and I feel every inch. “Think about how you’d feel if another man kissed me. _Your_ wife.” I shake my head and pull my pajamas on after I find the matching pants. “We’re married. I don’t know if you forgot that or what, but-” 

“But listen to yourself!” he counters back, stepping into the closet and finding his own comfortable clothes. “A marriage involves two people needing each other, you’re right. That’s exactly what a marriage entails. But you don’t follow that rule, either.” 

I scrunch up my forehead. “What? Yes, I-” 

“No, you don’t,” he says, pulling on a pair of blue flannel pants and a gray t-shirt. “You don’t talk to me. You don’t open up. When you have a problem, you deal with it with one person and on person only.” He gives me a pointed look. “Yourself.” 

I open my mouth and stutter, searching for words. “That is not true,” I end up saying. “I talk to you about plenty of stuff. And I think that’s a lot lesser of an offense than going out and kissing someone else, so don’t try and change the subject.” 

“I’m sorry about that, okay?” he says. “I’m sorry. I wish it never would’ve happened, I wanted to take it back as soon as it did. But I couldn’t. I wanted to forget about it, that’s why I never told you. I just… I wanted to take it back. That’s all I wanted.” He pauses for a moment, letting his thoughts process. “You don’t let me in. When you have a problem, you deal with it yourself. I want to help you, April! I’ve always wanted to help you.” 

I cross my arms over my chest and frown at him, unable to stop picturing his lips on another woman’s. Another woman who isn’t me. Who knows what he did that night after he kissed her? Did he come into our bedroom and have sex with me? I doubt it, but he probably touched me. He touched me with hands that touched another woman, and though it was a year ago - I feel tainted. Dirty. 

I need to shower. Now. Though I know it’s not logical, I need to wash everything off. 

“I’m done with this,” I say, brushing past him. 

He flips around, eyes following me. “Done with what?” he asks. 

“Tonight,” I answer, stripping back off the clothes I had just put on as I turn the handle of the shower. “I want to take a shower, and I want to go to sleep. I’m sore and tired and bloody. And I’m exhausted. I can’t fight with you anymore.” 

He’s silent, but he continues to watch me. I even feel his eyes after I close the shower door. I don’t know how long he stays there, but by the time I get out a while later, he’s gone and the sun is threatening to come up. My bed is empty and the apartment is quiet, so I crawl beneath the covers and lie there with my eyes plastered open, staring out the windows at the view I once loved. 

I can’t bring myself to love anything right now. 

But I force myself to sleep. 

***

I don’t sleep for long, thanks to my internal clock. When I open my eyes, my hips and the space between them are sore and I get out of bed slowly, hearing voices coming from the kitchen. It’s the sound of the TV, though, not Jackson and Aveline talking. 

I put my slippers and robe on, tying the belt tight and shuffling out of my room with bleary eyes, blinking hard to wake myself up further. I come to the end of the hallway and find Aveline on the couch, dressed in a pink long-sleeved dress with white tights, her hair tied back in two French braids that are just messy enough to have been done by Jackson. 

“Morning, honey,” I say, sitting down and wrapping an arm around her. I press my lips to the top of my daughter’s head and relish the sweet way she smells. 

“Hi, mommy,” she says, leaning against me. 

I pet her hair back from her temples and look at her face as she watches tv - her round green eyes she got from her father, her bow-shaped pink lips she got from me, the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose that she got from the both of us. She really is the perfect combination, and I’m so in love with her. She is my greatest accomplishment. 

“How are you?” I ask. 

She flits her eyes over to me for a brief second. “Good,” she says, then points at the screen. “I’ve never seen this one before.” 

A bit later, I smell breakfast being cooked in the kitchen. It’s rare that Jackson makes it on the weekdays, but he’s still off work, so I guess nothing is keeping him from doing it. My stomach twists with nerves, but I force myself to follow Aveline towards the smell once the TV switches off. 

She pulls herself up onto a stool and bounces. “Daddy maked pancakes!” she says excitedly. “And he doesn’t even burn them.” 

“Well, I tried not to,” he says, dishing a couple onto her plastic plate with a spatula. 

Jackson and I don’t make eye contact as I sit next to our daughter at the counter. I don’t make an effort, and neither does he. We don’t say good morning or greet each other at all, and I can feel Aveline’s curious eyes looking between us, wondering why. 

He dishes a couple pancakes onto my plate and I thank him with a curt nod. The three of us eat in silence for a bit - Aveline and me at the counter and Jackson standing on the other side - until she pipes up again. 

“Daddy,” she says, and Jackson’s attention is caught. 

“What’s up, sweetheart?” 

Aveline tucks her baby hairs behind her ears and says, “Are you gonna hit your head again?” 

Jackson’s forehead creases, then he reaches forward and touches his daughter’s chin comfortingly. “I’m gonna do my best not to,” he says. “You don’t have to worry about me, baby.” 

But then Aveline does something that I don’t think either of us expects - she bursts into tears. Her fork topples down to the floor and she drops her chin to her chest, openly sobbing. I frown and stand up from my stool so I can wrap her up in a tight hug. 

“What is it, baby?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

Jackson comes around to the other side and kisses her head, but is careful not to touch me. I can feel the electricity from how close our bodies are, though. 

Aveline sniffles and tries to talk. “When Daddy hit his head…” she sobs. “It fixed him. You didn’t even fight for while it was bumped.” She takes in a hiccupy breath. “And now you’re fighting again. You waked me up last night.” She rubs her eyes tiredly and I come to the realization that we kept her up. Our daughter lost sleep because we were fighting. 

I lift my eyes over the top of Aveline’s head and meet Jackson’s. His are just as sad as mine must be. 

We have to do something about this. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last numbered chapter, but in typical melissaeverdeen13 fashion, there will be a very important epilogue posted very soon!

The house is quiet, and it stays that way for days. Jackson is cleared to go back to work, and we adjust our schedules so we’re rarely ever home at the same time. 

I take Aveline to school, he picks her up. He puts her to bed at night, I wake her in the morning. We’ve fallen into a routine that works, though we didn’t have to speak to set it up. We read each other’s minds. 

I’m not ready to have a conversation and I’m sure he isn’t either, because if he was we probably would’ve had it by now.

I sit on the edge of my bed every night and think about him, but know that if he showed up I’d turn him away. I can’t stand to look at his face, and that’s the first time I’ve ever felt that way. I always used to miss him, but now I don’t. Because I don’t know him. I can’t miss someone that I don’t know.

Tonight, I stare at a framed picture on the nightstand. I reach over, pick it up, and brush the dust off the glass. It’s from a gala that the hospital threw when we were first married - I’m in a blush pink dress with my hair pulled back from my face, drink in hand and clutch under my arm. He’s in a suit with no tie, and I can’t explain how we look in the photo other than we look married. We’d had a fantastic time that night - I remember he made me laugh until I cried. I can’t remember what he said or did, but it doesn’t matter now. 

I set the picture down - glass lain flat on the wood - and pick up the one next to it. We’re at a housewarming party for Owen and Amelia, and I’m pregnant with Aveline - wearing a red dress with a lace pattern. Jackson is in a casual beige shirt, and the smile on my face reaches my eyes to make them scrunch at the corners. That had been a good night, too. Owen and Amelia were so proud of their new house, and everyone had been fawning over me and my newly sprouted belly. It felt like mine and Jackson’s life was just beginning. 

I turn that frame down, too. 

It’s late, but as I stare out at the lit-up city, I can’t fall asleep. His words keep ringing through my head - he thought that he already told me he cheated. I come to the realization that if he hadn’t hit his head, I would’ve never known about it. He wouldn’t have ever come clean. 

And that fact makes me feel sick to my stomach. 

He would’ve gone through with the divorce, split up our family, while continuing to lay the blame fully on me. My chin trembles as I wonder if he’s actually capable of that, as I wonder if I should let myself come to the conclusion that he is. 

But maybe he would’ve told me eventually. It’s a comfort to think that he would. 

But that thought is indulgent. It happened a year ago and he didn’t say a word until he thought he was already outed. 

Sure, I lied to him, too. For 48 hours, I pretended our life was untouched and perfect because it felt good. I let him forget everything bad we’d trudged through, all the fights we’d had, and all the ways our married life had changed. But he let me falsely believe for a full year - more than 12 whole months - that he’d always been faithful. 

I never thought he was the type to cheat. We looked each other in the eye on our wedding day and promised that we’d always stay true. I meant it. Had he? 

Obviously not. 

I’m a strong woman, but as I lie here in my big, empty bed in the middle of a city full of people in love, in successful marriages, I’ve never felt weaker. 

Before I found out, I wanted to fight for us. I wanted to salvage what we had, put back together the parts of us that we’d shattered. But now, none of the edges fit. The puzzle pieces are from too many different sets, and I can’t fix what’s already been done. 

I’m not even sure I want to fix it - not with this version of Jackson. With the old him, I would’ve tried anything. Marriage counseling, one-on-one therapy, acupuncture, hypnosis, anything. I loved him and what we had more than life itself. But I can’t trust him now. And I don’t think I’ll be able to again for a long time. 

I don’t get to sleep until after 3am - the last time I remember seeing on the clock was 3:18 - and I wake up feeling entirely unrested. But my alarm blares in my ear, forcing me up, so I throw the covers off and swing my legs to hit the floor. 

The hardwood is a shock of cold beneath my bare feet, so I shove them into my slippers and silence my alarm. The sun is barely peeking up from the horizon, but it’ll rise any minute now. 

I shuffle through the hallway, turn on the coffee maker, and switch on the news. I don’t let Aveline watch cartoons anymore in the mornings like Jackson used to because it made her too lethargic and unwilling to get ready. With the news on, we still have the comforting background noise of the TV without the distraction. 

I stand in front of it, mindlessly watching the screen, as I hear the coffee maker come to life. I blink my eyes hard, raising my eyebrows as I pull my robe tighter. The apartment is cold this morning, and it’s not helping with how badly I want to crawl back into bed. 

I pad back down the hallway towards the Thermostat and crinkle my eyebrows when I see something unusual - the guest room door is open. I backtrack a few steps, thinking maybe that Jackson slept somewhere else last night, because I don’t remember seeing it open when I came home.

But no, he’s there. His figure is easily discernible as I pause in the doorway, one hand on the wood and the other braced on the tie of my robe, and he’s fast asleep on his stomach. Sprawled out in the middle of the bed like he loves, he has both arms tucked under his pillow and his head turned to one side - towards me. His expression is serene and peaceful - the way I haven’t seen him look for awhile. When I do see his face now, he’s pinched and tense. But seeing him at all is rare enough as it is. 

I shouldn’t let myself linger, but I do. My eyes graze down his body - over the slopes of his shoulder blades, the defined line down the middle of his back, the swell of his ass under his tight black boxer-briefs. Calvin Kleins.

I bought those for him, they’re unmistakable. 

But instead of doing something I’ll regret like walking in and touching him or staying one more second, I walk away towards the Thermostat and turn the heat up like I planned. When I walk back the other way towards Aveline’s room, I don’t even so much as glance in at him. 

She gets up for me easily, gets herself dressed, and eats her breakfast of Frosted Flakes without spilling. Her school year will end soon and we’ll have to figure out the summer, where we’ll probably rely a whole lot on Vivian. Even if summer wasn’t approaching, I have a feeling we’d have to rely on her anyway. Change is coming. 

It sits heavy in the air like a sickness. 

As I’m packing Aveline’s lunch and she’s putting her folder in her bag, there’s movement in the hallway. I look up from the Ziploc baggie I’m closing and see Jackson coming out of the guest room, yawning and scratching his shaved head. 

“Hi, daddy,” Aveline says sweetly. 

He glances over at the sound of her voice, smiles softly, and walks over to give her a kiss atop the head. Recently, I redid her hair from its two braids into a line of puffs down the middle of her head, adorned with big pink beads, so he gets a mouthful of fluffy hair. She laughs as he pretends to spit it out. 

“I love your outfit today, baby bird,” he says, kissing her again on the temple. 

When he lifts his head, I avert my eyes. I don’t want to catch his attention and accidentally make eye contact, that would just be too awkward. So I pretend like I’m concentrating heavily on making sure she has the right number of baby carrots in that Ziploc baggie. 

I can hardly believe we’ve been reduced to this. I talk to Aveline, he talks to Aveline, we don’t talk to each other. 

_ Do you wanna have a baby with me? _

I remember exactly where we were and what we were doing when I asked. We were eating lunch in an enclosed rooftop bar on a sunny day in December, and I had been eating a salad when the thought crossed my mind. I didn’t want to wait one more second to ask it, so it just came out. 

_ Of course. I’m your husband, aren’t I?  _

I set my fork down and looked at Jackson seriously. 

_ No. I mean, like… do you want to make a baby  _ now? 

_ Now. As in, right here? On the table during lunch? Babe, I know we’ve been pushing your boundaries, but I think we should at least charge these people for a show. _

I reached across the table with a smirk and smacked him. 

_ For real.  _

His eyes shined, I can still picture how sparkly they were. We were so happy picturing what our future family would look like that we could barely contain ourselves. We’d talked briefly about kids before, about how we both wanted them, but the concept hadn’t been real up until that point. We were married, it was time to have a baby. 

_ Of course. Let’s make a baby. _

We’d held hands leaving the restaurant, bundled up in our winter coats as we walked to the train. I squeezed his fingers and craned my neck to lift my face as we waited on the platform, and he gave me a soft, sweet kiss. 

We were newlyweds still, married only two months before. There was nothing yet about him that I didn’t love, nothing that bothered me all that much. He was my husband, and I was in complete bliss. We were obsessed with each other. 

Because of this, we wasted no time in trying to get pregnant. In fact, it started that very afternoon after I brought it up. He unlocked the door to our still-new apartment and snuck up behind me as I was unzipping my coat, dropping his cool lips to my warm neck that had been insulated by a scarf. He gripped my hips in his hands and massaged them with purpose, turning me limp under his touch. 

_ If we get pregnant now, our baby will be a Leo.  _

_ Just like its daddy. That might be dangerous… _

He’d snickered, his voice so close to my ear that it gave me chills. 

_ The only one in danger right now is you.  _

He pushed me so the small of my back hit the counter roughly, and I gasped into his mouth as he covered my lips with his. His hands roamed my entire body from the slopes of my shoulders to the dip of my waist to the outside of my thighs, where he planted his grip. He lifted me so I sat on the counter and stood between my legs, yanking me forward with his hands low on my back so our bodies were flush together.

I remember grinding my hips against his - clothes against clothes - but feeling his erection push against where I needed it. I reached my hand down and grazed my hand over the bulge in his pants, which made him moan into my neck and strip my shirt off. 

With his face in the valley between my breasts, he unbuttoned my jeans and slipped his hand inside the front of them, rubbing me over my underwear. I let out a desperate little whimper as my hips twitched, and he closed his teeth over the swell of my breast to suck a generous amount of skin into his mouth. 

Without warning, he picked me up from the counter and kept a firm hold on my ass as he walked us to the bedroom. I shimmied out of my pants after he set me on the bed, and he started to strip his clothes off, too. But I’d stopped him, beckoning him closer. 

_ Let me _ . 

He smiled slyly and came to the side of the bed, where I sat up on my knees and unbuttoned his shirt slowly and deliberately, kissing every inch of skin that I made bare. He threaded his fingers through my hair at the nape of my neck, and once all of the buttons were undone, I slid the shirt slowly from his arms and moved towards his belt buckle. 

The clinking sound it made while coming apart was unmistakable, and it made me feel like I was in complete control. I knew once my hands neared his waist, he was a dead man. I could make him do close to whatever I wanted. But I didn’t want to torture him that night, I wanted to make him feel good. So after I got his belt unbuckled and his dark-wash jeans sagged to the ground, I pulled him gently forward by the hips and darted my tongue between the seam of my lips as I looked up at him through my eyelashes, and he reached down to trace one of my eyebrows with his pointer finger. 

_ What are you doing? _

I pulled the waistband of his boxer-briefs down - Calvin Klein like always - and his erection sprang free. My heart fluttered with nervous anticipation because I hadn’t done this yet, but I wanted to. 

_ I’m about to blow my husband. _

His dick twitched and he let a low groan out as he let his head fall back, and I took him in my mouth. I can guarantee now that I wasn’t very good, but he came anyway and looked at me like I’d performed better than anyone else he’d ever been with. And that was enough. 

I liked making him feel good. He never wasted an opportunity to do so for me, so I was more than happy to return the favor. His pleasure was mine. To me, that was the point of marriage. 

I can’t be sure which of our excursions created Aveline, but I’d like to think it was the one where we were both sweaty pressed tight against each other, his face in my neck as he whispered how much he loved me. Knowing what I know now about my uterus, I’m not sure how she was conceived. The only way I can think of is that her parents loved each other so limitlessly, and that was enough to bring her into this world. 

And oh, did we love her. From the moment we knew she existed, we loved her. 

I told him I was pregnant in the way I’d always dreamed of - by getting a t-shirt that said ‘World’s Greatest Dad’ and giving it to him along with the other anniversary present I’d gotten, which was a brand new Rolex that he’d been dying for. 

_ Another box? Seriously? Monkey, come on. You went overboard. You didn’t have- _

_ I did. Open it. _

I sat on my knees in the little black dress I’d worn out to dinner, bouncing with excitement. We’d exchanged our other gifts at the restaurant, but now we were at home in the living room, still dressed up. 

He lifted the lid off carefully and eyed me as he pulled the tissue paper back. I had folded the shirt so the words were face-up, and when he saw them, his eyes widened and his mouth fell open as he dropped the box. 

_ You’re pregnant? _

He was shocked, one hand covering his mouth. 

I nodded excitedly, the smile practically breaking my face in half as I launched myself into his arms. We fell backwards onto the floor and I kissed every inch of his face that I could reach, holding his cheeks between my palms and letting my body weight rest against him.

_ We’re gonna be parents. _

Giving birth was the most excruciating experience I’d been through up until that point and since. But the end result was more than worth it. Seeing Aveline’s face as she screamed and beat the air with her tiny fists, that mop of black hair atop her head, eyes squinched shut tight as she cried, I’d never seen something so beautiful in the entire time I’d been alive. 

They cleaned her up and set her on my chest, and Jackson wrapped his arm around my shoulders to get as close as possible. 

_ Look at her _ . 

I kept my voice at a whisper so I wouldn’t disturb her. She wasn’t crying anymore, but I didn’t want to take any chances. Her eyes were still puffy and we couldn’t see much of them, but to us she was gorgeous. She was perfect. 

She was ours. We had made her. 

_ She’s so smart. Look at her eyes. She is so, so smart.  _

I beamed up at my husband, eyes shining with happy tears. In my whole life, I’d never felt like that. Like everything had fallen into place, like every opportunity was sitting in my lap. Literally.

_ Like her daddy.  _

He looked down at me and pushed my sweaty hair back so he could kiss my forehead. It was damp, but he didn’t care. 

_ Like her mama.  _

I let out a sigh and a smile and rested my head against his chest, watching him stroke our baby’s wrist and hearing his heartbeat beneath my ear. 

_ You’re so strong. You did an amazing thing today. _

His voice was soft and unassuming, and I knew without asking that he was talking to the both of us. Me, and our daughter. 

The nurse asked what we were going to call our little bundle, and I looked up at her and said our baby’s name for the first time since she’d been born, the first time that she could claim it. 

_ Aveline Claire.  _

We’d picked the name Aveline for a specific reason. Not only because it was unique, but because of its meaning. Derived from its Norman roots, it means ‘wished for, or longed for child.’ And she was it for us. She was what we had wished for, and now she was here. In our arms, healthy and living. 

As she grew, the laughter in our house did too. That was one of my favorite things about being a new mom, there was so much laughter in our house. At first it was just us laughing about silly things we’d do wrong, but when she learned to laugh, our lives brightened in a way I never knew possible. I could be in the next room, making a bottle, and hear Aveline laughing and my heart would soar. No one could make her laugh like her daddy. 

We loved her endlessly and were the best parents we could be. So now, looking at us in strained silence with that third party between us - knowing how happy we’d once been - makes my heart ache for her. This awkward tension is something she has never known. It’s something she’s had to get used to over the past year, and I hate that. No child should have to go from a healthy, happy home to one where her parents walk on eggshells around each other.

It’s not fair. To any of us. 

***

After I get Aveline to school, I’m sitting in my office during the late morning, going through case files. The Handler case has been taken care of - I handed it off to Callie during my leave - so I’m in a lull between clients now. 

I sit facing forward with my hands flat on my desk, staring ahead at nothing and knowing what I need to do. I know what’s looming; I’m not stupid. I’m done thinking idealistically - both of my feet are firmly planted on the ground now. 

What Jackson and I had is over. There’s no coming back, at least not anytime soon. He cheated, he lied. I lied, I tried to force what we could no longer recreate. We don’t see eye-to-eye anymore. 

We are different people than when we were at the beginning of all this. 

I’ve just rolled over to my filing cabinet and pulled out a thick folder when there’s a knock on my office door. I look up and see Amelia standing there in a blazer and dress pants, her hair pulled half-back, her face nearly free of makeup. She is glowing. 

“Hi,” she says. We haven’t spoken since the last time I picked Aveline up from her house. She’s been on vacation from work and I’ve been busy watching my life fall to shambles around me. 

“Hey,” I say, wheeling back behind my desk. 

“Can I sit?” she asks. 

I motion towards a chair. “All yours,” I say. 

She sits down and leans forward on her elbows so we aren’t very far apart at all. “How are things with Jackson?” she says, not wasting time beating around the bush. That’s why I love her. She’s not about bullshit.

“Bad,” I say truthfully, smoothing over the documents in my opened manila folder. 

She looks concerned. “His memory…?” 

“No,” I say. “It’s back. He remembers everything.” 

“How?” she says. 

I shrug. “I… it got triggered. We had a bad night a few weeks ago.” I laugh to myself, though nothing’s funny. “Well, we’ve had a lot of bad nights. Long story short, I had another miscarriage. That’s what did it.”

Amelia’s eyes widen. “Wait,” she says, and the hand on her stomach doesn’t go unnoticed. “Another?” 

I nod slowly. “I never told you about the first one,” I admit. “It’s what started all this.” 

She sits back in her chair, elbows off my desk. “I’m lost,” she says. “You have to explain.” 

So I grit my teeth and explain. I tell her about our disagreements over whether we were ready for a second child and my eventual giving in. I tell her about my excitement over the prospect of partner trumping my excitement for our baby, and how that didn’t sit right with Jackson. I tell her about losing the first baby and what that did to us. I go over the Queen of Angels vs Oscar Mayer debate, and how Jackson missed Aveline’s First Communion. I tell her about the most recent miscarriage I could’ve never prepared myself for, and the accidental confession that followed. I tell her Jackson cheated on me. 

“With an intern,” Amelia echoes, after I’ve dropped the bomb. She raises her eyes to meet mine. “So now what?” She presses her fingertips into her temples. “Oh my god, April. I am so sorry. Really, I am. I… I can’t believe this. You two, of all people.” She darts her eyes away, then flits them back. “Sorry. I- my guess is that doesn’t help. But, I just…  _ wow _ .” 

“Yeah,” I say, monotone. I’ve gone through all these emotions already. “I know.” 

“What now?” she asks again, and glances down at the papers in front of me for the first time. If possible, she blanches even paler. “Oh, April.” 

I look down at the papers myself and taste the bitter flavor of sad acceptance on my tongue. The documents before me are the first steps in a custody agreement that I know will have to take place, and I might as well be proactive. I want everything between us to be agreed-upon and legal, set in stone. I don’t want any room for faltering. 

This is what I have to do. This is what  _ we _ have to do. This is a step that a normal, separating couple would take, so I’m taking it. 

We have a child, and we share her. Nothing will change about that. I’m not in this to take Aveline away from her father, and he’s not in it to take her away from me. This should be as painless for our daughter as it can possibly be, so I’m working on making it so. 

I nod curtly and pull out a fountain pen, and look up at Amelia once more. “You look nice,” I tell her. A bit off-topic, but true. 

“Oh,” she says, smoothing down the creases in her jacket. “Thanks.” 

“You seem happy.”

She can’t hold back her smile, and I don’t want her to. She deserves happiness. She and Owen have gone through their fair share of ups and downs, too. Except they’ve come out on top, on the contrary to how Jackson and I have ended up. 

“I really am,” she says. “And…” She sighs, sounding frustrated. “There’s no one I’d rather tell than you, but it just feels wrong. I can’t… I feel awful telling you while you’re going through such a horrible-” 

“You’re pregnant, right?” I ask, lifting my eyebrows as I look up from the document. 

Her lips part and a small sound escapes, but it only takes her a moment before she bounces back. “I…” she says, and color creeps onto her cheeks. “Yeah. I am.” 

I force a smile. I won’t let my circumstance ruin my happiness for someone who I could arguably call my best friend, someone who has been there for every hardship I’ve endured since college. She deserves this more than anyone, she’s had it coming for years. And finally, it’s happening for her. The life she’s always wanted has fallen into her lap. 

I know the feeling. 

“Congratulations,” I say, and I’m fully aware that she can hear the detachment in my voice. It’s not purposeful, but I can hear it. And if I notice it, so does she. “I’m so happy for you guys. You’re gonna make amazing parents.”

She can’t keep the grin from her face, and she shouldn’t. This is an exciting time, and she should take it in. No one knows how long it’ll last. 

“Thank you,” she says, leaning forward with a sympathetic look in her eyes. “Thank you so much. I couldn’t wait to tell you, but I didn’t want to do it over the phone, and I knew you were going through it with what happened to Jackson, and-” 

I cut her off by overlapping her wrist with my fingers. “I’m glad you told me,” I say. “How far along are you?” 

“Not long,” she says. “Almost six weeks. And we haven’t known for very long. I…” She leans forward and grasps my hands. “I want you to be its godmother. You know, if you’re up for it.” 

I pull the corners of my lips up in an artificial smile like a marionette doll. “I’d love to,” I say. “Of course I will.” 

***

I work late that night, finding things to do and returning calls I’d missed while I was out of the office, and don’t get home until it’s nearly 10. I have the custody papers in my briefcase and a whole lot on my mind, and I need Jackson to be awake when I walk in the door. I won’t be able to fall asleep with all these thoughts in my head, but I don’t want to wake him. 

Luckily, the light is on in the kitchen and he’s in there warming up something in the microwave. I walk a few steps inside, the clack of my heels making my presence known, then kick my shoes off on the mat by the door. I hang up my light jacket and make my way into the kitchen, setting my work stuff down on the end of the counter where it always goes. 

“Can I talk to you?” I ask, breaking the silence that has become so commonplace between us. 

Jackson flips around, a look of surprise on his face because we haven’t spoken directly to each other for weeks. He lets a long sigh from his nose and ignores the microwave when it beeps. 

“April, it’s late, I’m tired. I… I don’t wanna fight.” 

I take a couple steps forward in my nylons-covered feet. “Neither do I,” I say, and lay the manila folder down that I’d been holding onto all day. “I’m tired of it, you know. Tired of fighting, tired of the silence, tired of…” I wave my hands around. “Tired of this. It’s not us.” 

We share a long look. He feels it, too. 

My lower lip trembles and I brace myself with one hand flat on the counter for what I want to say next. I never thought I’d be in this position, I never thought that simple words could make me feel so weak. “You were right,” I say, dragging a blush-pink manicured fingernail across my cheek to scratch an itch that isn’t there. I look up from the floor into his face and feel my eyes burning. “This isn’t working. We…” I pause. “We aren’t working.” 

He nods slowly, but can’t meet my eyes. Before, he had said it so casually, standing there in the bathroom while I burst out of the shower. But now, it feels like I’m trudging through mud to even get my mouth to form what I want to say. I know I need to say it, though. 

Our relationship fell to pieces because of the things we kept from each other. What I’m about to say next can’t be hidden in the half-light or forced into the shadows. It needs to be said clearly. Effectively. Confidently. 

“You were right,” I preface again. “About us, what you said before. I want to look into a separation.” 

The air between us cracks, though neither of us makes a sound. Both of us jump when the microwave beeps again, reminding Jackson that his dinner is ready. 

“A separation,” he echoes.

I nod, and lift my hand to the manila folder. “A split custody agreement for Avi is all right here,” I say. “I drew it up, Amelia witnessed it. You can look at it, of course. But I went completely half and half. Neither of us gets more time than the other. So, if you-” 

I open the folder to show him, but he cuts me off. 

“You don’t need to show me,” he says. “I trust you.” 

I look over at him slowly, then shut the folder. “Okay,” I say. 

There’s a small, soft pause before he speaks again. “I’m sorry,” he says. 

The tears that threatened to spill over before now take their chance to do just that. I sniffle, wipe beneath my eyes, and reply, “Me, too.” I avoid his eyes and blink quickly, trying not to let myself cry that hard, then murmur, “You need to understand that I desperately, hopelessly wanted a fresh start with you.” 

He looks at me earnestly, but offers no reply. 

“That’s why I did what I did,” I say. “That’s why I… that’s why I didn’t tell you, that’s why I lied.” I clear my throat and tuck a stray tendril of hair behind one ear. “I just wanted you to know.” 

***

Explaining it to Aveline isn’t easy, but it isn’t as difficult as the movies make it seem. She noticed we were fighting, that was enough proof to back up our claims that Mommy and Daddy can’t be around each other anymore. 

“For forever?” she asks, green eyes wide and wondering. 

Jackson and I trade a look. I feel a pit in my stomach as I realize this is the first time in a good while that we’re speaking around her without fighting. 

“We don’t know if it’s forever,” Jackson says, one hand capping his daughter’s knee. “But you don’t need to worry about that. We’re doing this so we’ll all be happier. So nobody fights. Nobody likes fighting, right?”

She halfheartedly agrees, her lower lip pouted out in a cute, concentrated way. “If you’re not gonna live together, then where am I gonna live?” she asks.

Jackson pulls her into his arms and hugs her tight, pressing his lips to her hairline. “You’ll have two houses,” he says. “One at Mommy’s and one at Daddy’s. Isn’t that cool? You’ll have two rooms!” 

She glances up at him apprehensively, then shoots me the same expression. “But what about my house here?” she says. 

I sigh softly, reaching over to take her hand. “This one’s gonna go up for sale,” I say. “Someone else is gonna buy it and live here, not us.” 

“Why?” 

It’s hard to explain to a six-year-old that I couldn’t stay in this house because it reminded me too much of everything good we’d once shared and would never get back. I have a feeling Jackson felt the same way, because he wholeheartedly agreed on putting it on the market. For once, we hadn’t fought. 

“Because this was our house we shared,” I say. “And now, since we’re not gonna be living together, we don’t need as big of a place. Right?”

She goes for it, if only somewhat. She stops asking questions and nods slowly as she comes to understand it all. As I look at her, I feel guilty for making her feel this way. But not as guilty as when I knew she was listening to us fight all night. They’re two very different types of guilt. 

It doesn’t take long to sell the apartment. We’d pooled our funds together to buy it, so we split what we earned from it down the middle. I find a walk-up in Wicker Park to rent and Jackson stays downtown, around what he knows. 

We help each other move because it’s what we do. We don’t talk much, but we work as a team. Aveline, too. But when the days are done and all of our separate stuff is inside our separate houses, we don’t share a beer and sit on the porch and think about unpacking that empty house. 

Instead, one of us takes our kid and goes home to our own place. Alone. I’ve never lived alone in the city - during college I lived on-campus with roommates, during law school I lived with Addie and Amelia, and I moved in with Jackson not long after that. This is a whole new transition for me; one where I have to learn, in a way, how to stand on my own two feet for the first time. 

While I’m on hold with the internet people after our stuff is moved inside, Aveline and I eat pizza out of the box in our very empty kitchen. “Mommy,” she says, picking apart the crust with her hands. 

I look over at her, and for a fleeting second, see a child much older. She’ll turn seven in just a couple months, and all of her baby fat is gone. I can barely believe it. 

“Yeah, baby?”

She looks at me with her father’s eyes. “Is it my fault that you and daddy aren’t married anymore?” 

I close my eyes slowly and the hold music playing in my ear fades. I tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder and walk over to her, wrapping her small body up in my arms. “No, honey,” I say. “No, no, no. Not at all. This was between me and Daddy. It had nothing to do with you.” 

“Are you mad at me?” she asks, her voice barely a peep. 

“No, sweetheart,” I say, pressing my lips slowly to the crown of her head and getting a mouthful of hair in return. “Never. I don’t even want that thought crossing your mind. You did nothing wrong, okay?” I lift her chin up so she’ll look at me. “Okay?” 

She nods slightly, but I’m not convinced she believes me. I hang up on the internet people that are taking forever and devote my complete attention to my daughter. 

“Sometimes, even though you still love someone very much, you just can’t get along anymore. Me and your daddy...we have a lot of differences, right?” 

“He likes vanilla ice cream and you hate it,” she says. 

I smile a little. “Exactly,” I say. “Except for even bigger than that. Big differences that we just can’t find a way around. And we were tired of fighting. Tired of it for us, and tired of it for you. Neither of us will ever stop loving you, though. No matter how old you get, we’re always gonna love you the same way we do right now. We’re never gonna stop. Okay? We aren’t separated because of anything you did. You are perfect, I want you to know that. This was  _ our _ choice we made. I know it’s confusing right now, but…” I sigh. “It’ll get easier. I promise. We’ll get used to things, like we always do.” 

“Like getting used to pool water?” 

I kiss her forehead deliberately, letting my lips linger before I pull away with a smile. “Just like that,” I say, and swipe over her cheekbones with my thumbs. “My love for your dad will never go away. It just won’t, okay? Because he helped me make you. And that… that will always make him a very special person to me.” 

I don’t tell her the other reasons why he’ll always be special. That’s enough explanation for her at six. But inside my mind where she can’t see, there are plenty of memories swirling around that I know I’ll never forget. There’s no way I could. In a way, I almost feel like I grew up with him. I came into my own with him, and he knows everything about me. All the ins and outs, all the weird habits, the tics, the turn-ons. He knows them all.

He knows me, inside and out. And he had loved me as much as I loved him. 

But sometimes, love isn’t enough. 

** ONE YEAR LATER **

“Mommy,” Aveline pipes up from the back seat. 

I look in the rearview mirror and see her rifling through her big backpack. “What, honey?” 

“Did you pack my stuffy?” she asks. 

“Your pink cat?” I ask. She nods. “Yep, she’s in your other bag. Your nighttime bag.” 

“Oh,” she says, setting the backpack down. “Okay, good. Because Daddy got me a new stuffy last time when you forgot to pack this one, and it wasn’t very good.” 

I raise my eyebrows in the mirror. “Oh, you didn’t like it, huh?” She shakes her head and smirks. “Well, it sounds like he spoils you anyway.” 

“No!” she sings, and we pull up into the parking garage for his building and I scan the ticket he gave me so I can get in.

_ Are you sure you’re going to be fine with her on your own? _

I wasn’t supposed to go back to work when Aveline was 6 weeks old. She was, of course, still nursing, but there was an emergency at the office that only I could handle. I was in high demand, and there was nothing I could do. They needed me, and it would only be for a few hours. 

But still, I had never left Jackson alone with our infant before. I’d watched her by myself when he was on-call at the hospital, and of course we spent a lot of time the three of us together, but he hadn’t yet done it by himself. 

_ Yes, babe. We’ll be fine.  _

I lingered at the door wearing an outfit that was not appropriate for work - yoga pants and an athletic zip-up - but I wasn’t going there to fulfill my persona as usual. I was going there to get something done, then come home to my husband and my baby. I wasn’t supposed to be back for weeks. 

_ Okay… if you’re sure. But if not, I can always call Amelia… _

_ No!  _

He laughed, he was finding this funny. I was trying, too, but it wasn’t as easy. That was my baby, my helpless little baby, who I was leaving alone with her father who dropped a gallon of milk yesterday because it ‘slipped out of his grip.’

But I told myself that he was a doctor. Making his way up to being a world-renowned surgeon. I could trust him with our baby for a few hours. 

_ I pumped and left plenty of bottles in the fridge. Remember, you can’t heat them up in the microwave, you have to- _

_ Put them in a pot of boiling water and do it that way. I know, the microwave is bad and poisonous and all that stuff. _

He gave me a look that made warmth radiate throughout my entire body.

_ Monkey, I got this. I got her. We’re gonna have a great time.  _

He held Aveline up, who was looking around with her fist in her mouth. 

_ Say, ‘bye, mommy! We’ll miss you!’  _

He brought the baby back down to his chest and held the back of her head, keeping her close and swaying back and forth. I felt comforted at how natural they looked together, and told myself to stop worrying. 

As if that would do anything. But still, I could try. 

As I headed out the door, Jackson called out one last thing to me. 

_ Kick ass at work, Monks. I love you.  _

I ring the bell for Jackson’s apartment after riding the elevator fourteen floors up, and he answers before it can even get through its first ring. 

“Hey, baby bird!” he says enthusiastically, widening his arms out for a hug. Aveline flies into them and he spins her around, then flashes me a smile over her shoulder. “Hey, April.”

“Hey,” I say, Aveline’s bag slung over my shoulder. “I gotta set this down. It’s about to break me in half.”

He laughs and welcomes me inside, dumping Aveline on the couch. “Dang, what’d ya pack in there, Avi? Bricks?” he asks.

She pops up and rests her hands on the back of the couch, a wildly happy expression on her face. “No!” she says, her voice high-pitched and silly. 

“Better let me be the judge of that,” Jackson says, and goes to pick up the bag I set down. When he grabs the strap, he pretends to be pulled down from its weight in a goofy, dramatic way. 

“Oh, god, Avi! I can’t even lift this! I swear you packed bricks. This has to be bricks.” 

She climbs over the back of the couch and onto his back, pounding on his shoulders. “I didn’t, daddy!” she laughs. Jackson looks at me with a familiar smile on his face as he sets Aveline back on the ground. She starts in the direction of her room, probably in pursuit of new toys Jackson is always buying her, but I stop her in her tracks. 

“Hey, wait!” I call out, then kneel down. “Come give Mommy a kiss.” 

She scampers back over to me and melts into my outstretched arms, planting a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “Love you, mommy.” 

“Be good, sweetie,” I say, then pat her on the butt. “Okay, go play.” 

I stand back up to my full height and look at Jackson, who’d been watching us. “I swear to god if she doesn’t stop growing,” he says with a chuckle. 

“I know,” I say. “She’s gonna be taller than me before she’s in middle school.” 

“Well, that’s not exactly hard,” he says, and I punch his arm. 

“Shut up.” 

“Oh, I was meaning to ask you,” he says, digging around in Aveline’s school backpack and pulling out a bright orange piece of paper. “What night are you going to her play?” 

He sets the paper down that shows all the dates. 

I furrow my eyebrows at it, trying to think about my work schedule. I can’t picture it in my head, though, so I pull out my phone and bring it up. “I think Friday’s performance works for me,” I say. “I can definitely make that. Thursday I can’t do, but Saturday is good… Sunday’s matinee, I think I can make that, too. I just can’t make Thursday.” I look up at him. “You’ll be there, right?” 

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I can make sure I’m there on Thursday.” 

I put my phone away. “Why’d you ask?” 

He shrugs slightly, but his eye contact doesn’t falter. “I wanted to make sure I was there on your day, too,” he says. “It’s gotta feel good for her to know that we’re both in the audience at the same time, cheering her on. You know?”

I smile. “Yeah,” I say. “That’s… that’s really thoughtful of you. She’ll love it.” 

He scratches the back of his neck. “And, I, uh… I don’t know. I was looking forward to seeing you, too. You know. Besides pickup and dropoff.” He nods to himself, pressing his lips together. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but it’s true. Thought I’d put it out there.” 

I chuckle to myself as I eye him. He’s nervous, I’d recognize his nervousness anywhere. I think about teasing him for it, but decide against it. 

“I’m looking forward to that, too,” I admit, and it’s not a lie. It’s a nice thought to think that we’ll be together for one of Aveline’s functions - together, as a unit, as her parents. I really like that idea. 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

I nod solidly. “Yeah.” 

A bit later, he walks me to the door and rests on the jamb as I linger in the hall. “So… I’ll see you Friday night?” I ask. 

“I’ll see you then,” he says with a nod. 

“Okay,” I say, taking one slow step backward as I keep my eyes on his. “See you then.” 

“Bye, mommy!” Aveline calls out from inside, one last time. I wave to her from over Jackson’s shoulder, then turn around to leave. 

Leaving her with him doesn’t make me nervous like it did when she was a tiny baby. It didn’t even make me nervous when I dropped her off for the first time. Because Jackson is her father. 

He’s her father, I’m her mother, and that means something. She’s our child, and she’s something that we will always share. 

And that love will never disappear. 


	8. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for sticking with me through Remember!! This one is shorter than I usually write, but I'm happy with its length. any longer and it wouldn't have been as poignant. it definitely was something out of my comfort zone, which i'm happy with!! just so you know, i honestly am going on a short hiatus until my next fic. just a short break, then i'll be back again! thank you all again for reading and loving Remember!!

When I hear the doorbell ring, my stomach twists with nerves as I wonder if my date is here already. I glance at the clock and see that it’s 7:17, and he said he’d pick me up at 8. That shouldn’t be him, not yet. 

“Mommy, mommy! Auntie Amelia’s here!” 

I sigh with relief as I look at myself in the mirror, towel tucked under my armpits and another wrapped around my hair. “Go ahead and get the door for her, baby!” I call from the upstairs bathroom. 

I hear the pitter-patter of Aveline’s footsteps rushing to the door, then the warm sound of Amelia greeting her. She offered to come pick Aveline up to watch her while I go out on a date tonight, though I told her thousands of times that we could hire a sitter. She has a sixteen-month old daughter, Ryan Grace, meaning she has enough on her plate. But she insisted on having Aveline over. 

“Hi, honey!” Amelia calls from downstairs, and I walk out of my bathroom to look over the ledge at her. 

She’s holding Ryan Grace on her hip as she smiles up at me. “Hey,” I say, adjusting my towel. 

“I love your outfit,” she says with a giggle. 

_ I hate your outfit. _

I turned around from the full-length mirror in my small bedroom to glare at Amelia, who was standing in my doorway. I was wearing a pair of faded jeans and a light pink cardigan, buttoned once over a stark white camisole, my hair pinned half back with a pretty barrette. 

I touched my hair and frowned at her further. 

_ Why? What’s wrong with it?  _

She walked towards me, shaking her head and looking at me up and down. 

_ This is for a date? This does not say ‘date.’ This says ‘a day out with daddy at the apple orchard.’ _

_ Amelia- _

_ And we’re looking for a look that says ‘a  _ night  _ out with daddy.’ _

_ Amelia! _

She cracked up at her own joke - she was the funniest person she knew - and rifled through my closet. She spent ample time standing in front of my organized rack of clothes, discarding things that wouldn’t work and sighing with annoyance, claiming that everything was too casual or too businesslike. 

_ I’m an intern at a law firm. What do you expect?  _

_ Something with a little more style! And that something is not in your closet. Come on, follow me to the promise land.  _

The promise land meaning:  _ her _ closet. She took me by the hand and led me down the hallway into her room, where she threw open her closet doors and let out a big, dramatic sigh. 

_ Much better _ .  _ Now, we’re looking for something sexy. _

_ I’m not going out looking like a prostitute.  _

She shot me a look.  _ Did anyone say prostitute? Did you hear me say prostitute? No, I said sexy. Not hoochie, sexy.  _

I sat on her bed and slumped my shoulders, my hands sandwiched between my knees. I told myself not to fight her, because it would get me nowhere. I should just trust her; she could make me look good. 

_ Let me see here… _

She flipped through her tangled hangers, debating on each article of clothing she came across before passing it up. Everything took careful consideration. She lamented about letting Addison borrow her favorite black dress, because she claimed it would look amazing on me. I tried to argue that I had plenty of my own black dresses but, of course, she wouldn’t hear it. 

When she gasped, I knew I was in for it. 

_ This is the one. This is  _ definitely  _ the one. You have to try this on.  _

She held up a long-sleeved burgundy dress without much shape, which I wasn’t used to. I wasn’t used to fabric just flowing over me without any sharp angles or zippers. But I had to admit, the color was lovely. My mom had always told me that it was one of my best, so I figured I’d give it a try.

I slipped it on over my head and Amelia walked over and took my hair out of its clip, fluffed it around my shoulders, then took a step back. She tapped her chin in thought, then walked over to her vanity and came back with two necklaces that she layered over one another to rest across the fabric on my chest, then a bracelet that I wore over the sleeve. I wouldn’t have chosen the accessories for myself, but I trusted her. 

She took another step back, and her face lit up. 

_ You’re a fox. You’re a fucking fox.  _

Now, I stand in my closet and have no idea what to do. I can hear Amelia conversing with Aveline downstairs, switching between normal and baby talk as she brings Ryan Grace into the conversation, too. 

I don’t feel like anything I own is good enough. This first date is very different from the one years before - it’s with a very different person. He’s much different, yet my stomach still jumps with the same nerves. They’re welcome, though. I’m excited for this.

Every dress I own, I’ve worn to work. They don’t feel right for a first date. We’re going to see a show at the Victory Gardens theater, though, so I have to dress up. 

After I’ve been upstairs for an ungodly amount of time making sure everything is perfect - my hair, my makeup - everything except my outfit, Amelia calls up again. 

“Need any help?” 

I smile to myself and lean with one hand on the doorjamb. “Please,” I call down.

I hear two pairs of footsteps head up the stairs, and Aveline appears in my bedroom first. “Mommy, you’re naked,” she states, taking notice of my outfit of a plain black bra and underwear set. 

“Yes, I know,” I say, then Amelia walks in. 

“Hot outfit,” she says with a laugh. 

“Shush,” I say. “I need help.” 

“Mommy, are you gonna get fancy?” Aveline asks, plopping on the end of my bed. 

“I’m trying,” I say. “Aunt Amelia’s gonna help me.” 

“Because  _ I’m _ ,” Amelia says, spinning around and raising her eyebrows at my daughter. “The expert.” 

Aveline giggles and flops onto her back with her arms straight out, and Amelia leads the way into my closet. “Baby duty, please,” she says, and I gently take Ryan Grace from her as she looks through my clothes. “Christ, April, you’re a stuffed shirt. I can’t stand your clothes, I never could.”

“God, don’t hold back,” I say, smiling at her baby. “Your mama is so mean. You know that? She’s been being mean to me for years!”

“I’m mean because she deserves it,” Amelia says, kissing Ryan Grace’s temple then patting me on the hip a couple times. “I just need a minute to dig through all this shit you’ve had since you were twenty…”

“You said a swear!” Aveline scolds from my bed. 

“Yeah, yeah, so I said a swear!” Amelia shouts back. “What’re you gonna do about it, punk?” 

Aveline busts up in giggles. Amelia knows just how to make her laugh. 

“Okay, this is it,” she says, pulling out a garment bag that I haven’t looked at in years. She unzips it and unearths a long-sleeved, dark green dress with buttons down the chest and a chestnut belt around the waist. “This, with black tights and black heels.” 

I raise my eyebrows. “Seriously, this?” 

She wiggles it in my direction. “Do you have a better idea, Donatella Versace?” 

I grumble, but take it from her anyway. “I haven’t worn this since I was like, twenty-five,” I say. 

Amelia pinches my waist as I turn around to slip the dress on after I hand Ryan Grace back. “And has anything, anything changed about this body? I think not. Put the dress on, whiner.”

I can’t help but laugh as the fabric settles over my shoulders. I pull on the skirt to place the waist in the right spot and buckle the belt so it’s tight but not too tight, then dig for a pair of black tights and put those on. I turn around and showcase it for my friend, and she nods approvingly with a warm look in her eyes. 

“Oh, yes,” she says, rubbing her baby’s back. “Oh, this is it. Aveline, come look at how pretty your mama looks!” 

I hear movement as Aveline gets up off my bed, and when she appears in the entrance of my closet, she smiles and covers her mouth. “Mommy, you’re so pretty,” she says. 

“Thanks, honey,” I say, kneeling down to find shoes. “Amy, you’re sure? This is okay for the theater?” 

“Yes, April!” she says. “You look perfect, you look amazing. I’ve always been jealous of that body.” 

I roll my eyes. “Shut up,” I say.

“Seriously, though. You look hot and classy at the same time. He’s gonna love it.” 

At the mention of him, my stomach twists again and I take in a sharp gasp of breath through my nose. I look at her over my shoulder with my shoes dangling from my hand, and she crinkles her eyebrows with confusion. “What?” 

“I…” I say, eyes flitting to Aveline. I shake my head slightly. “I just got a big wave of nerves.” 

“It’s just first-date jitters,” Amelia says. “You’re gonna have a great time.”

Becoming bored with the grownup conversation, Aveline leaves us and goes off to busy herself elsewhere. I put the shoes on and stand a little higher than Amelia, but feel like I’m just an inch tall - having shrunk from the debilitating nerves. 

“But what if I don’t?” I ask.

She gives me a look. “You will.” 

_ You are not backing out of this. No way.  _

I pulled at the sleeves of the burgundy dress and paced my room, eyes directed towards the fluffy white carpet. Amelia was sitting on the edge of my bed, trying to talk me down. It wasn’t exactly working. 

_ I can’t do it. I can’t go out with this guy. He’s way out of my league!  _

She scoffed so dramatically I’m surprised she didn’t scratch her throat.  _ And that’s why he totally made out with you at Three Dots and a Dash the other night, right? Stop pulling excuses out of your ass. You’re going.  _

_ I can’t.  _

She stood, throwing her arms up so they fell down and hit the sides of her hips.  _ Why? Why can’t you go on a date with an amazing guy who finds you totally sexy and fuckable?  _

_ Because… of that! I don’t wanna be… fuckable. I want him to appreciate me for my brain. I’m almost a law- _

_ Shut up about the lawyer shit. I know what you’re covering. You don’t have to be so scared of someone actually seeing you, April. When’s the last time you entertained a guy’s feelings for you? Can I get ‘never’ for 400?  _

I had no counter-argument for that one. She was right, but I was still scared. As hell. 

_ If you didn’t want his dick so bad, then why’d you go up and kiss him?  _

_ He was a stranger! I didn’t think it meant anything.  _

_ A totally hot stranger.  _

_ Amelia. _

_ Admit it. A totally fucking hot, bangable stranger! And you want him between your legs, in your mouth- _

_ Amelia! Stop, oh my god!  _

She burst out laughing as my face turned crimson, and I covered it with my hands. 

_ Are you gonna tell him? That you’re an angel virgin?  _

I glowered in her direction, pausing with my arms crossed over my chest. That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind because this was a first date - and I didn’t even think we would kiss again, let alone get close to having sex. 

_ You are out of your mind.  _

_ Maybe so. But are you gonna tell him?  _

_ No!  _

She leaned forward with an elbow perched on her knee and looked at me mischievously. 

_ Are you gonna let him take it?  _

I gaped, eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as I took one step back. 

_ No, I’m not! I’m waiting for the man I’m gonna marry, you know that.  _

She eyed me and stood up, placing two firm hands on either of my shoulders. 

_ He could end up being your husband. _

_ You don’t know that. _

_ And if you don’t go out with him tonight, we’ll never find out… _

I go downstairs with Amelia and Aveline and feel my palms start to sweat. The show will run late, so Aveline is carting an overnight bag over her shoulder as she sits in the shoe closet, finding her slip-ons. When she has them on, she lingers in the doorway and watches us, then realizes Amelia isn’t heading right out the door. She asks if me she can turn on the TV, and I cave only because I feel like I’m about to fall over. 

“What if this is a huge mistake?” I ask Amelia in lowered tones as I lean forward. 

She gives me a look with raised eyebrows and bounces her baby. “April,” she says. “It’s almost been two years. Hasn’t it?”

Ryan Grace starts to squirm, so Amelia goes and puts her in the baby jail we’ve crafted in the living room so she can watch TV with her pseudo-cousin. 

“It’s almost been two years since you’ve been… out there.” 

“More than that,” I insist. “It’s been like, eleven years since I dated anyone. I didn’t have to worry about this kind of stuff when I was married.” I plunk an elbow down on the island and massage my temples. “This is so stressful. No wonder I barely ever dated.” 

“Well, now’s your chance,” Amelia says. “Because you’re not gonna flake. Oh, no. You are going through with this.”

I sigh and look at her desperately. “I’m just so nervous. What if… what if there’s no spark?” 

“You spent plenty of time around him before he asked you out, didn’t you?” she asks. 

I nod. 

“And there was… something, right?” 

I nod again. 

“Then you don’t have to worry about there not being a spark. There’ll be one. And guess what? If there isn’t, it isn’t the end of the world. If there’s no spark, you can keep doing what you’re doing and pretend like this part never happened.” 

Pretending like things never happened is something I’m good at, so that’s a mild comfort. 

“Okay,” I say softly, and check the clock. I have about ten minutes. “You guys should get going,” I say. “He’ll be here soon.” 

_ He’ll be here soon! Go! Go away!  _

_ Why? You don’t want me to talk up my best friend to the hot guy of her dreams?  _

_ No! No! _

I shoved Amelia’s shoulders back towards her bedroom, and she complied with stumbling steps with my hands on her back.

_ Stay in here ‘til I leave.  _

_ Maybe… _

_ Amy, please. Promise.  _

She rolled her eyes.  _ Fine, drama queen, I promise. But the second you get back, you better come in here and tell me  _ everything.  _ Except if you bring him home. Then I can wait ‘til after you guys are done dry-humping.  _

_ Oh my god, stop. I’m leaving now. I’m going to go wait by the door. _

She laughed and shut her door, and I walked as calmly as I could back to the front entryway. I didn’t know what his car looked like, so I wasn’t exactly sure what I was waiting for, but I subtly watched out the window all the same. With every car that passed, the butterflies in my stomach intensified. I had no idea how I was going to survive that whole night. 

After I randomly kissed him in Three Dots and a Dash, he gave me his number but I was never brave enough to use it. It took running into him a second time at that same bar a week or so later, where he came up to me and asked why I hadn’t called. I had no answer, of course, other than he made me so incredibly nervous. But it didn’t matter, because he asked me out on an official date right then and there, and I had no choice but to say yes. I wanted to say yes, but I knew how much I’d freak out. And of course, I wasn’t wrong.

I almost wished I’d turned him down. Then I could’ve just stayed in with Amelia, ordered pizza, and watched movies. But if I canceled, she’d kill me. And I doubted Jackson would take no for an answer at that point - he was a very headstrong kind of guy. I’d learned that much just from the slight interactions we’d had. 

I jumped at the sound of the doorbell, having gotten lost in my own head and become less vigilant on my car-watching. I darted my head this way and that, looking for the purse I had just set down, and felt my palms break out in a sweat.

_ Be right there!  _

I grabbed my purse and looked at myself in the hall mirror, letting out a long breath towards my reflection. I told myself that this would be fun. We would have a great night. We were going to the planetarium; he wanted to show me the stars. I didn’t know any other guys that would get that creative with a first date, so that was a good sign. 

I pulled the door open and there he stood, casual and waiting, with a small bouquet of peonies and snapdragons in his hand. Before that moment, I’d never had a favorite flower. Then, I did. 

He looked me up and down as a smile grew on his face.

_ You look gorgeous _ .

I blushed. I wasn’t sure if any other man had ever found me gorgeous before, so I wasn’t sure how to respond other than to thank him. The heat didn’t die away from my face when he offered his arm, and I took it through my unignorable nerves. 

I entwined my grip with his as he walked us to the car parked out front, and his hand lingered on my upper waist as he opened the passenger’s side door for me. I thanked him again, and noticed that neither of us could keep the smiles off of our faces. 

When we got in, he fumbled with the bouquet for a second. 

_ Oh, I - jesus. These are for you, I was supposed to hand them to you, I’m an idiot.  _

I took them and breathed in deeply, my nose pressed inside as I looked at him. 

_ Thank you, they’re lovely. _

_ Just like you.  _

It was the first ‘real’ first date I’d ever been on, and really it was the last. It was everything I’d ever fantasized that a first date would be - he was a gentleman, he held doors for me, he held my hand, and we lay shoulder-to-shoulder looking up at the star exhibit in the planetarium. Where are bodies touched, mine burned like I’d been singed. 

I couldn’t look at his beautiful face without blushing. I assumed I would get used to that, but not anytime soon. 

When he dropped me off at home, he walked me to the door and under the porch light, gave me a gentle, lingering kiss on the cheek. He smelled like subtle cologne, and I floated through the front door after he left. He texted me right away and I responded just as quickly. 

That time together was all it took, all we needed. We both knew it - we were going to fall in love. 

“Okay, you’re good with everything for tonight?” I ask Amelia, zipping up Aveline’s backpack on her back. 

“Yep, we should have everything,” Amelia says. 

“Got your stuffy?” I ask my daughter, and she nods surely. “Good. Okay, give Mommy a hug. I’ll be there to pick you up in the morning, okay, baby bird?” 

I kneel down and pull Aveline in for a hug, then give her a big kiss on the cheek. I wipe lipstick residue away with my thumb and she laughs, then I give her a softer kiss on the forehead that leaves nothing behind. 

“Be good for Aunt Amy. If you need anything, just call.” 

“Okay, mommy.” 

“I love you.” 

“Love you.” 

I stand up again and smooth down Ryan Grace’s downy hair as I talk to my best friend. “Thanks again for taking her,” I say. 

“Oh, you know it’s no problem,” Amelia says. “We’re gonna have a great time.” 

“Okay,” I say, smiling at them. “Don’t get too crazy.” 

Amelia eyes me. “You better have a good time, too,” she says. “Don’t overthink. Just let yourself be. Alright? Don’t freak out. And if things are going bad, just leave. You do what’s best for you.” 

I nod. “I’m sure about this,” I say. “I was nervous, but now it’s kind of in a good way. I’m excited.” 

She grins. “Good. That’s what I like to hear.” 

I wave them all goodbye as they leave out the front door, then gather my purse and feel the butterflies go crazy in my stomach. The minutes tick closer and closer to 8, and I’m getting more and more jittery with each passing one. 

I tell myself that it’ll be fun. I’m taking a big risk, but I’ll have a good time. Both of us will. 

When the doorbell rings, I take a moment to calm myself. I look in the mirror and inhale deeply, then open the front door. 

As soon as I see him, another smile appears on my face. He’s holding a bouquet of peonies and snapdragons - the flowers he made my favorite. 

“Hi,” Jackson says, smiling softly as his eyes drift over me. “You look amazing.” 

I step down and lock the door behind me, turning back to look at him. “So do you,” I say, and my heart is beating so hard that I wonder if it’ll burst from my chest. 

He hasn’t looked at me this way in years, like he’s looking at someone he only just met. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me for a long time, and when he does, he offers his arm and we walk to his car together. A car that I’m very familiar with. 

“Oh, these are for you, obviously,” he says, handing me the bouquet. 

I look at him over the colorful petals. “My favorite,” I say. “You remembered.” 

“How could I forget?” 

He opens the door for me and I slide in, noticing how clean it is. He never kept a dirty car, but I can tell that he made sure it was spotless.

He gets in and once we’re sitting next to each other, a natural calm washes over me. We’re side-by-side, right where we’re supposed to be. Through it all, we’re partners. Best friends. 

And now, we’re giving ourselves back the chance to grow into something more. Lovers, spouses, soulmates. 

The two years between us haven’t always been smooth. We still fought, but over things that mattered. The fights were to work through things instead of work around them, and after they died down, they turned into open communication. 

We started actually talking to each other. Going to therapy as co-parents. We learned to compromise, he learned to apologize. And when he told me he was sorry, not just as a blanket term but specifically for all the ways he hurt me, it opened up a new respect for the man who used to be my husband. 

I saw him in a different light. I saw how much he’d changed. And he saw it within me, too.

We weren’t the same people we were when we got married. We weren’t the newlyweds moving into a brand new apartment, or the new parents we’d been after the birth of our daughter. But we also weren’t the couple always at odds with each other, fighting over every little detail in our lives. We had grown from all of that. We were co-parents turned close friends, who had grown enough to try again.

We’d never gotten fully divorced, only separated. There was still enough slack to give us room for a shot. That’s what we told each other; our relationship deserved a shot. 

He asked me on a date when I came to pick up Aveline one morning and she was still asleep. I was in my yoga clothes, still sweaty from class, and he was in workout clothes, too, from having just finished a run. That was how we knew each other. Everything about him was still so familiar, from the way he smelled to where he sweat first, and so I made myself comfortable with a water bottle and sat down at his dining room table. 

He didn’t beat around the bush much, though I could tell he was nervous. He told me everything I already knew - how we had grown significantly and were much healthier - but then he told me something I wasn’t aware of. 

He still had feelings for me. 

I’d been trying to suppress mine for him, knowing that acting on them or bringing them up would be dangerous and counteractive. But after he came out with his, I didn’t wait long to admit that I felt the same.

So we agreed to try again. To date each other like we did in the beginning, and let ourselves fall in love with the new versions of who we once were. 

I glance over at him now and see that he was already looking at me, and I can’t resist. I do what we always used to do when we got in the car - I lean my head to the side and move my cheek towards him, and he knows exactly what I want. With a hand capped on my knee, he presses his lips softly to my cheek and lingers there for a long moment. 

We aren’t getting the fresh start I had tried to force. Instead, we’re getting one we both grew into - stepping into a new life together while still giving ourselves room to remember our past. 

When he pulls away, I look into his face and see my husband. I see the man who I kissed in a bar, the man who broke me out of my shell, the man who I fell in love with. And I know it will happen all over again, because I never stopped loving him, not really. 


	9. The Soundtrack

Remember Who I Was - James Arthur

Remember - Harry Nilsson

Because You Loved Me - Celine Dion

In Love Again - Colbie Caillat

Wish You Back - Mako ft. Kwesi K

The Night We Met - Gavin Mikhail

This Time Around - Tove Lo

What Happened to Perfect - Lucas Graham

Hold On For Dear Love - Bridgit Mendler

Waves - Dean Lewis

You're The One - Dondria

Bottom of the Ocean - Miley Cyrus

The Heart Wants What it Wants - Selena Gomez

What About Us - P!nk

 

Link: https://open.spotify.com/user/1253167892/playlist/38za2tnIJ0y2CL6tGD3fc1


End file.
